Settle a Score
by Cashmere67
Summary: "War does not determine who is right – only who is left."
1. Just Another Victim: Part One

**Head Gamemaker Padovan**

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><p><em>Treason.<em>

_Sedition._

_Rebellion._

Those are what plague this nation – what ruin this nation.

It all unraveled in the recent years. It all came from the 75th Hunger Games – the Third Quarter Quell, where two Victors from each District were picked out of the Reaping bowl. This is what led to the birth of the Rebellion. When Katniss Everdeen of District Twelve won those Games, she began to speak out against the Capitol and protest.

She gained a following. She had a cause.

People believed her. They fell for her manipulative ways.

Riots in the Districts then began. Workers stopped working and had sit-ins in their factories and fields. At first, we tried to compromise with them, to appease them. Nothing worked, however, and they persisted.

So, we took action. After some fighting between the Capitol forces and rebels, the fighting subsided. It was until the 99th Hunger Games that things began to seem peaceful once again. It was during the 99th Hunger Games that everything began to… Fall apart, if you will.

The rebels thought they finally had a movement. They began to officially call themselves a rebellion.

This is no rebellion, however. It's a folly.

I pity them for their cause.

For their so-called cause against a dictatorship. Against an oppressive regime. Against a government that denies them their right.

But, do you how I see it? They are lashing back against a nation that feeds them, that protects them, and that gives them stability and peace in their life.

With this rebellion nonsense, we cannot provide with them that anymore. If they do not comply with us, we cannot provide any of those resources anymore. They'll come around, then. They'll see everything they will have to live without if they are going to pursue this rebellion.

This rebellion… This absurd movement. They aren't accomplishing anything and still won't in the future.

What they're doing is simply preventing this nation from prospering. Distracting us from our priorities, from our people. They are an inconvenience and are doing more harm than good. Do they even realize what they're doing?

These bombings, these assassinations… Are they worth it? Are they accomplishing anything?

Was the bombings Districts of One, Two, Four necessary? Was the direct assassination and manslaughter of Victors a part of their plan all along? Did the lives of Nashira Vire, Cavalier Pavillion, Triton Madeira, Clara Peronne, Narissa Vire, Gloss, Dustin Cranford, Marius Liard, and Kendra Stallone really impact their lives?

Must they have killed those Victors? What did it prove?

It just proved that the rebels are savage. That they will cross any boundary. They'll even kill innocent Victors.

And, now, they need to reimburse, I suppose. They kill our Victors, we take their people then, too.

While these bombings and assassinated occurred, we raided a rebel base and located one of the rebel leaders – Lyme from District Two. She was also a Victor. We killed her on the spot, as well as the rest of her squadron. We killed them all.

We showed the strength Capitol possesses and what happens when you kill our own.

After this happened, Victors decided to take arms. We had volunteers from District One, Two, and Four to join the fight against the rebels: Vanora Revery, Cashmere, Affinity Pelletier, and Thane Pontair of District One; Brutus, Breccia Covelt, Phadra Berrit, Arick Caine, and Ryker Caine of District Two; Coleen Morisette, Tigris Narmada, and Evadne Caldera of District Four.

These are the people I respect. The people who volunteer to fight for and protect the nation that made them the person they are today. The rebels could learn a thing or two from them.

It's a shame – how deluded they are, that is. They are uneducated and are unaware of everything the Capitol does for them. We provide them with resources and protect them with security. If they looked at the grander scheme of things, they would see this.

We aren't the bad guys here.

They are.

And that's what I want to prove. We are only here to help our people and to make sure Panem prospers. I just want them to realize this, and perhaps, I am trying to teach them a lesson.

I'm not vengeful. I'm not vindictive. I just want them to learn.

I am just doing my duty. My duty to the Capitol, to Panem.

As Head Gamemaker, I have one utility I can implement this through – The Hunger Games. Through the Hunger Games this year, I will revel and expose the rebels of our Districts. _They _will be Reaped. _They _will go into that arena, and once they are in it, they will finally realize how great the Capitol is.

They will regret their actions. I will see to that.

Their shenanigans have been going on for too long. It's time for someone to step in and take action against these rebels. Although there is a pursuing fight between Capitol and rebel forces, it's time to take it one step further. They have caused too much damage both to the Capitol and to our reputation. It's time that we make them suffer the consequences.

They'll be the ones to pay the price.

If you disrespect the Capitol, you disrespect me.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

(In this Author Note, I'll attempt to explain things more clearly and to make this process for us both easier. If you have any more questions regarding this, don't be afraid to PM me!)

Well, as you can see, this is a Quarter Quell – The 100th Hunger Games.

Back story (Not all of it, though. Mentors and tributes will cover that): There was no rebellion during the 75th Hunger Games. The Games went on, Katniss won back-to-back Games, but once she won, things started to change. The rebellion didn't really culminate until later on, around the 99th Hunger Games per se, when another District Twelve female won.

Rebellious acts and threats began during the 99th Hunger Games. As you can see, patriotic mentors were assassinated and the Career Districts were targeted by rebels. This will be shown more later on, so I won't explain that too much. After all of this happened, the Capitol's Gamemakers came up with the twist for this Quarter Quell.

Now, time to explain the twist: Any tribute that has any involvement in the rebellion will be up in that bowl. There are volunteers and anyone's names in the bowls are of ages 12-18. The tributes do not have to be involved in the rebellion directly; it could be a family member and relative. Or, they could directly be involved in the rebellion (Protests, participated in bombings, participated in assassinations, sent threats to the District officials and the Capitol, etc.)

So, basically, anyone who is involved in or associated with the rebellion is up for grabs this time.

Does that sort of explain it? I hope so. But, once again, if you have any questions, just please PM me and I'll try to do my best to explain it further. That's it for now, though.

Send in those tributes!

(Regarding a deadline… I never really have one. Just keep sending them in and whenever I feel that I have enough tributes I will close submissions. Figure, that'll be in about a week or two.)


	2. Just Another Victim: Part Two

**ID#: 1053  
>25 Years Old<br>Peacekeeper.**

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><p>Seven pods.<p>

Seven rebels.

All surrounded by four glass walls, all lined up next to one another, placed so strategically. District Three is at the forefront, with District Twelve concluding the row of pods.

Seven pods for seven rebels.

The ones who instigated it all. The ones who furthered their cause, the ones who prevent this nation from prospering. The rebels that have plagued Panem with a sense of fear and uncertainty. It's their entire fault – these seven rebels. And now, they will pay the price.

They will get their punishment they deserve. They were placed in front of a tribunal, and as these seven rebels sat there, chained down to their seats, they trembled in fear. They finally came to realization with the mistakes they had made. But, it was too late to pardon them.

To let them off the hook.

These seven rebels are only getting what they deserve.

"Pod One," the overhead automatic voice says. "Beetee Latier of District Three."

Peering over the balcony, I see the lights in the six other pods shut off completely. They're all pitch-black now, except for Beetee's. He's one of the seven rebels that are receiving their sentence. His wheelchair was stripped of him, and as he sits there on his knees, he stares down at the ground.

The old man should have realized that messing with Capitol technology and communication is an offence. As is assisting the rebellion in any way, shape, or form.

"Commence."

My eyes widen at the sight. There is a surge of electricity, illuminating the whole room. The whole glass pod lights up, and when the light dims for a moment, I see Beetee's limp body lying on his side. His hand is twitching, a spark flying off of him and sizzling into the air. After one more surge of electricity, Beetee's body ceases movement.

One rebel down.

Six more to go.

"Pod Two and Three," the voice says. "Annie Cresta and Finnick Odair of District Four."

Beetee's pod goes black. The next pods, belonging to Annie and Finnick, light up. Annie is pressed up against the side of the glass, clawing at it towards Finnick. Finnick is doing the same, desperately trying to get to his wife. He kicks at the wall, but it's futile.

If they didn't want to be here in the first place, they shouldn't have gotten themselves involved.

"Commence."

On command, Annie's pod is the first one to begin filling up with air. I glance at Finnick for a moment, seeing his mouth open widely, the scream unable to be heard outside of those four walls. The water in Annie's pod fills up quickly, already being up to her waist. She frantically looks around, standing right in the center of it. When it reaches her neck, she takes in one last breath – her final breath.

Annie attempts to hold her breath as the water consumes her, but she knows that anything is futile too. Opening her eyes, she looks at Finnick one last time. After Finnick lets out one more inaudible scream, Annie opens her mouth, closes her eyes, and accepts her fate.

Finnick drops to his knees.

"Commence."

As his pod begins to fill up, Finnick seemingly accepts his fate too. He's on the floor, and as the water reaches his shoulder, he shoots a glance behind him. Behind him are the next pair of rebels, but he cannot see them. He stands up, pins his arms tightly to his side, and takes his final breath too. The water is now above his head, and I should have known he wouldn't have given up as quickly as Annie did.

Finnick was always a fighter.

He just fought for the wrong side.

A few minutes pass of Finnick holding his breath, but as his arms flail outwards, he has officially conceded. His mouth opens, the water rushes in, and his body begins to frantically spin around. He's drowning, and as he floats throughout the water, the light shuts off for his pod.

Two more rebels down.

Four more to go.

"Pod Four and Five," the voice says. "Blight and Johanna Mason of District Seven."

The lights shine in Blight's and Johanna's pods. Blight is standing there rather calm, but Johanna is wildly attacking the glass wall. She scratches at it, kicks it, and throws her body at it. She's screaming as well, but it cannot be heard.

"Commence."

It takes me a moment to realize what is going inside of her pod. She stops attacking the wall, clutching onto her throat. Her skin becomes a bluish hue, and as she drops to her knees, her eyes become bloodshot. She drops to the side, her eyes slowly rolling back. Death by oxygen deprivation will surely put the rebels in disarray, and perhaps in a coma, too.

Blight doesn't even glance at his fellow rebel. He's accepting his fate too.

"Commence."

Just like Johanna's pod, the oxygen is sucked out of his. He goes through the same phases, and as he falls to the ground, he covers his nose and mouth. His body takes a little longer to fully slip out of consciousness, and unlike Johanna, he begins to have a seizure. It eventually ceases, though.

The lights turn off in both of their pods.

Two more down.

Two more to go.

"Pod Six," the voice says. "Chaff of District Eleven."

The next pod lights up, revealing Chaff. He was stripped of his prosthetic arm, leaving the stub dangling at his side. He looks at all four corners of the pod, and when he looks forward, he squints his eyes. He can't see everyone around him, but we can see him.

"Commence."

Chaff looks around the pod once again, awaiting his sentence. Small pores of sorts enter the pod, floating around from here-to-there. He looks at them attentively, but as the pod fills up more quickly, he begins to get worried. He swats them away, but once they come into contact with his hand, he clutches onto it. The skin begins to bubble over, turning all shades of red.

The pores swallow him whole, his whole body being immersed in them. They are of a green color and as they stick onto his body, the rest of his skin bubbles over and turns red. He falls forward, kicking out his legs and his arm. His eyes cave in, leaving red and black remnants, and the spores start to burn through his skin.

Chaff's light shuts off. One more down.

Leaving our final rebel.

"Pod Seven," the voice says. "Katniss Everdeen of District Twelve."

When her lights turn off, we see her standing there, her hands clenched into fists at her side. Her head is lowered, and she stares right up at the balcony. There is silence in the room for a minute or so. Katniss stands there motionless, and as the voice speaks on the overhead, I anticipate what her punishment will be.

"Commence."

A line of red and orange spread on the bottom of the pod, ignoring the rest of it. It's a fire, and as it spreads around Katniss, it leaves her untouched. It surrounds her, leaving her stranded in the middle of it. Slowly, the fire creeps up on her, the orange and red flames making the light unnecessary.

The fire finally reaches her. She stands there, her fists still at her side, not falling to her knees like the rest of them did. She's ardent, but she's misguided. She could have been fighting for the Capitol too.

We could have used someone like her.

We could have made her a symbol. A symbol of pride. Of patriotism. Of power.

Katniss' clothes are the first to burn, and as the fire reaches her hands and upper-body, she finally reacts. She tries to shake it off, but it's growing too quickly in intensity. She finally falls to her knees, the fire finally swallowing her whole. I watch her body being burnt to a crisp, but eventually, the lights shut off.

The last rebel down.

This moment will go down in history. Every rebel will tremble in fear as they watch this. They will realize too the mistakes they have committed. There is no fight left in the rebels – not after this.

The killing of seven rebels. The ones who led the fight, the ones who instigated it all, all dead in the matter of minutes. The sentencing of the death punishment to the seven rebels who have committed various felonies and offences.

This is the Victor's Purge.

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><p><strong>District One<strong>

Male: Ceylon Lanier , 17.

Female: Leilani Theriott, 18.

**District Two**

Male: Mathias Mordurie, 18.

Female: Levana Coltello, 16.

**District Three**

Male: Marlin Crichton, 18.

Female: Aella Rafferty, 17.

**District Four**

Male: Jonah Danick, 18.

Female: Otrera Hale, 18.

**District Five**

Male: Caden Glite, 15.

Female: Anaise Tuist, 17.

**District Six**

Male: Kolter Hendricks, 18.

Female: Drew Kendall, 15.

**District Seven**

Male: Audrey Kaman, 18.

Female: Gerri Faulkes, 16.

**District Eight**

Male: Nathaniel Bayle, 18.

Female: Claire Dasilva, 18.

**District Nine**

Male: Marlon Haigh, 14.

Female: Reanine Darsh, 15.

**District Ten**

Male: Lonan Hurritt, 15.

Female: Tasha Levelle, 17.

**District Eleven**

Male: Alumax Derian, 17.

Female: Cailen Arkley, 18.

**District Twelve**

Male: Amias Black, 14.

Female: Wren Maddox, 18.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

It wasn't easy. That's all I have to say about accepting tributes and deciding who's in and who's out and who goes where. This is the most tributes I've received for any one of my SYOTs, so this was a pleasant surprise. I really do appreciate every submission I get and I hope everyone understands that not all of them could get in, naturally. Only 24 slots, you know? I was looking for a few things in particular for this SYOT as well.

But, enough about that: Here is the Second Part of the Prologue. This introduced the Victor's Purge and went more in-depth of what happened to canon Victors that you're all on the edge of your seat wondering about. We already know I stray away from Suzanne Collins' plotline, so.

Here is the link to the tribute's blog (on my profile):

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

And here is the mentor blog (also on my profile):

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

So, I have some questions about these blogs/the Prologue:

_Are you disappointed I killed any of these victors? Shocked? Happy? Tell me what you think of this Prologue and tell me your general opinion on the Rebellion so far. I like reading comments, people._

_On the tribute blog, who are your favorite tributes? Least favorite tributes? Who stood out?_

_On the mentor blog, are there any mentors that stand out to you?_

That's it. Stay tuned for more from Cashmere67 soon!


	3. Reapings

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

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><p><strong>Camden Stallone<br>****Rebel Soldier, 22 Years Old  
>Location: District Thirteen<br>Reapings**

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><p>"Welcome, District One, to the Reapings for the Hundredth Annual Hunger Games!"<p>

The small screen goes static, the image of the colorfully adorned woman fading away. It comes back slowly, pixel by pixel, eventually returning to the original frame. The television itself is already falling apart, and this streaming of the Reapings from a Capitol station is making it work even harder. The screen is black and white in some spots, with part of the glass screen shattered in the corner.

After I left District One myself, I had to resort to the lesser things in life. Back in One, I had it all, but in District Thirteen, you learn to survive. You learn to adapt, to become resourceful. Life flipped upside down for me, from the constant harassment that there's a chance I might be a spy to the mocking that the conditions here aren't up to my standards.

I addressed both immediately: First, I am no spy. I am not trying to avenge my sister's death. My reasons for joining the Rebellion are the same as everyone else's. And, second, these might not be up to my standards, but I won't complain. I chose this life. I chose to do this for me, not for my dead sister.

On the screen, the first thing I notice is the massive number of Peacekeepers stationed around the area. The Reaping isn't taking place in front of the Justice Building, either; it's potentially too risky. Another bombing could take place at any moment – I know that there aren't any planned for today, but they don't. They're trying to be one step ahead of us.

The Peacekeepers have formed a large circle around all of the teenagers in the middle, still being separated by gender and then age. This time, though, I don't see any parents or relatives. I only see the kids and the Peacekeepers. Lately, District One is under the most surveillance; ever since we oversaw some of the bombings there, it has all changed. We weren't expecting such a shutdown of the District, but after they jammed all communications both in and out of the District, we had to devise a new plan.

We're still working on that plan, though. District One is tricky, especially after the recent murders of a few Victors.

It's unfortunate that my sister couldn't live, but she decided her fate. She pledged her allegiance to the Capitol.

There was nothing I can do.

"Let's get started, shall we?" The escort says, a sense of wariness in her voice. "For our male, we have-"

"I volunteer!"

Go figure. Despite this year's Quell Twist, there are still volunteers from District One. Perhaps that is why we attack that District in particular – because of their patriotism. The way that Career tributes from that District pay homage to the Capitol. They honor and respect the Capitol. That's called brainwashing.

A boy slides into the aisle, and behind him, two Peacekeepers approach him. They don't grab ahold him, however, they just stand there as he strides forward.

He walks forward, a glint in his eye that sends a chill down my spine. I can tell he's very self-aware. He walks up the stairs, stands next to the escort, and announces his name as 'Ceylon Lanier.'

Is that familiar?

I really can't tell. There are too many people involved in the Rebellion.

"Our female for this year is-"

"Leilani Theriott!" A female's voice screams from the crowd. A blonde girl steps into the aisle, her hair disheveled. She walks down the aisle very quickly, shoving her face in the face of anyone she passes. "First name Leilani, last name Theriott, and I volunteer."

She's… interesting. Rambunctious, I can tell.

Another name I don't recall, though.

The screen goes black again, and as District Two appears, the television rattles.

It's nearly the same scene; the children in the middle surrounded by Peacekeepers. Once again, it's not happening in front of the Justice Building. This time, at least, has a reason – that was a location of one of the bombings. The governor died, as did his wife and daughter. Perhaps they're overcompensating for it by being under heavy-security.

The escort is already at the male's bowl, but as she looks into the audience, she smiles. As she opens her mouth to, there's a shout in the audience. The television raddles as the escort speaks into the microphone, saying, "Mathias Mordurie."

Mordurie. Could it be? Lennox's and Wisley's son?

A pause follows with complete silence. The boy takes his spot in the aisle, and for a moment, a sense of genuine shock shoots across his face. He manages to swallow any emotion, his face becoming indifferent. He lowers his head, nodding to himself and smirking. Mathias takes his spot next to the escort on the stage, and as she calls the female's name from the bowl, I'm surprised no one volunteers.

District One had two volunteers, so why don't they? Has District Two finally lost its patriotism and devotion to the Capitol?

"Levana Coltello."

_Lyme._

That's Lyme's granddaughter. She's more than that, though. She's a prime example of a child rebel.

I remember her story. She joined the Rebellion once her grandmother was killed by the Capitol… When she was taken into custody, we lost track of her. Here she is, though, with the same scowl on her face as she always did.

Levana trudges to the stage, kicking a pebble on the ground along the way. She tenses up once she notices two Peacekeepers trailing behind her. When Levana stands next to Mathias, they exchange a glance, the scowl on Levana's face and the smirk on Mathias' putting a pit in my stomach.

Two rebels. Two rebels that I've heard of.

Up next is District Three; the District that was only plagued by the Victor's Purge. Beetee Latier was his name.

"The male who will represent District Three in the Hundredth Annual Hunger Games is," the escort says, pausing before opening the card. "Marlin Crichton!"

Unlike the other Districts, it takes a while for someone to step into the aisle. The Peacekeepers survey the crowd of kids, looking to see where Marlin is. Then, they locate him, being taller than everyone else. The Peacekeepers pull him from the arm, leading him up to the stage. He complies with a confused look on his face, as if he doesn't know why he was just reaped.

As if he's unaware of what he's done to put himself in that bowl.

"And the girl is," the escort says once more with another pause. "Aella Rafferty!"

There's a gasp in the crowd. A few girls move to the side, leaving one red-headed girl in the middle. She folds her hands over one another and smiles. She whispers something to the girls around her, who are all in shock. Apparently, she's rather popular among the District.

Aella stands next to Marlin who is staring vacantly at her. She smiles again, her cheeks blushing.

How could someone like her get involved in the Rebellion? Someone so dainty?

The screen goes black once more, transitioning to District Four. These Reapings are being held at the edge of some body of water. There are a few patrol boats it seems in the water, all very close to the edge – a safety precaution. The escort approaches the male's bowl, picks up a card, and before she can even the read name out, there's a volunteer.

"I volunteer," he says as he swiftly walks to the stage. "Jonah Danick."

As in, Corinne Danick?

What is he doing up there volunteering?

"I volunteer," he repeats, standing next to the escort. "To amend for what my aunt has done."

What? To 'amend'?

Is he himself not a rebel, then?

The escort is at the female's bowl, but once again, no time is wasted in District Four. A girl is already in the aisle, making her way up to the stage. Whenever she passes a boy, she glides her finger along their arm, and when she approaches a Peacekeeper, she stands on her tippy-toes. She puckers her lips, stepping back down.

"Otrera Hale," she says, curtseying to the audience. "It is my pleasure."

District Five is up next.

"Caden Glite," the escort calls out, waving her hand in the air. "I see you out there, Caden!"

A boy with a smirk on his face begins walking up to the stage. He walks quickly, not looking back at all. He makes his way up there, completely quiet and tamed, except for that smirk on his face.

Someone so young… I respect that.

The escort steps up the female's bowl, and for the first time, I look closely at how many slips are in the bowl. There's a good amount, nearly filling the whole bowl. That means that most of District Five are classified as being a part of the Rebellion.

That brings a smile to my face.

"Anaise Tuist!" The escort booms, holding up the card in the air. "Make your way up here, Anaise."

There's a gap of silence. No one moves, no one shuffles to the side. It's all quiet.

Then, the Peacekeepers intervene, locating Anaise in the mix and pulling her out. She has a perplexed look on her face, seemingly confused as to what's going on. She ambles towards the stage, footstep after footstep, scanning the crowd. Her eyes are widened with the same incredulous expression plastered on her face.

The escort tries to grab Anaise's hand, but she pulls it away, holding it to her chest. Caden simply stares at her, the smirk still on his face.

When District Six appears on the screen, I see that this time, they are surrounded by hovercrafts that are flying overhead. The escort's at the male's bowl, and as she calls out the name, the unexpected happens. I would have never thought District Six would have a volunteer.

The boy who was reaped steps into the aisle, but another male steps in front of him. He shakes his head, walking up to the stage slowly. He stares down at the ground, his fingers twitching at his side.

"Who do we have here?" The escort asks.

"Kolter Hendricks," he answers. "And I volunteer."

It's not a name I've heard of. Maybe someone else here has.

"Girls next," the escort says, walking over to the girl's bowl. She picks out a card, opens it, and reads the name aloud. "Drew Kendall."

There's a scream in the crowd. The girl falls to her knees, tears streaming down her face. She looks like the youngest kid that has been reaped so far. She's completely silent except for the sobs, unmoving as she stares at the ground.

"Drew Kendall?"

From the male's side of the crowd, a boy begins to scream her name. Drew darts away, trying to run towards the boy who's calling out her name. She doesn't get far, though, before the Peacekeepers picks her up and forcefully throws her over his shoulder. She's tossed onto the stage, a sullen expression now on her face.

"Thank you for joining us," the escort says.

Then, the screen goes black. District Seven is next. In Seven, there are lot more Peacekeepers than any other District. They're everywhere; on top of the buildings, behind the stage, mixed within the kids. I know that District Seven has been one of the most… rebellious Districts, if you will.

It's not the best place to live right now.

"Audrey Kaman."

There's a loud grunt in the crowd, with a dark-skinned male rushing out towards the back. He grabs ahold of some woman, pressing his hand on her stomach. He scrambles to get away with her, but Peacekeepers surround him, his fist smashing into the jaw of one.

They jab him in the neck, making him buckle over, and as the Peacekeepers pick up to carry him towards the stage, he mouths something to the woman. They place him on the stage, letting him get back onto his feet. His lip twitches, probably wanting to run back to the girl.

"Now, for girls," the escort says. "Gerri Faulkes."

A girl steps into the aisle, playing with the ends of her brown hair. She twirls her hair nervously, biting down on her lip. She trembles, her hands shaking uncontrollably. You can see how hard she is trying to suppress the tears.

None of these kids deserve to get sent into the arena.

What have they done wrong?

They're fighting for a cause.

When District Eight appears on the screen, it confuses me as to why the Reaping is being held in front of a bombed-out building. It's collapsing in on itself, with random metal bars popping out of the cement. The rubble is spread out and it looks like it was a recent incident.

They're probably sending a message.

The escort takes a card out of the male's bowl, unfolds it, and inhales before reading out the name. "Nathaniel Bayle."

The boy sort of freaks out, bringing his hands to his face. He rubs his eyes, and when he removes his hands, his face is all red now. He walks to the stage obediently, however, with a pensive look on his face. He's tall and lanky, and as he steps around the Peacekeepers, he towers over some of them.

You can see the real fear in his eyes now.

These kids… They don't deserve it.

"For girls, we have Claire Dasilva."

A girl steps out from the crowd who is shaking violently. She has a scowl on her face, but it doesn't look like it's out of fear or nervousness… She looks angry. She walks up to the stage, her tanned skin becoming a shade of red. The escort holds out her hand for Claire to stand next to her, but Claire is unresponsive, staying where she already is at the edge of the stage.

District Nine is up next, with the Reapings being held in a grain field. The field is scorched, though, with the whole are being burned down. The grains are all withered away, with the remaining ones all black and gray.

What happened here?

"Our male is Marlon Haigh."

A boy steps out from the crowd, immediately rolling his eyes. He walks up to the stage with his arms crossed over his chest, the anger clear in his facial expression. He contains himself, though, unlike some of the other tributes. He stands next to the escort, staring out into the crowd.

He might be young, but he's a rather muscular boy. He has potential.

"Reanine Darsh is our female."

A young blonde girl steps into the aisle. She has a small and petite frame, looking like she couldn't even hurt an insect.

What has she done to get her name in that bowl? What _could _she have done?

She looks at the ground, her cheeks blushing. The girl puts her hair behind her ears, not looking up even as she walks onto the stage. When she looks up, though, you can see the surprise in her face. There's a latent anger in her face, which is surprising for someone as young as her.

District Ten scene is just as gruesome as Nine's.

The Reaping is set in a large farm, but in the background are animals… Dead animals. There are cows and chickens, all without a head and with knife wounds. The blood is poured out everywhere, staining the hay and the walls.

What has gone on here?

We never instigated this. This was District Ten's doing.

"The female who will represent District Ten this year is," the escort says, taking a pause before she reads off the name. "Tasha Levelle."

The girl walks calmly up to the stage, not wasting any time to reflect or to show any expression. She doesn't seem very surprised. Her hands are balled into fists and are shaking, however. Is it out of fear? Or anger like some of the others?

I don't know what to think of these kids so far. These rebels, I should say, actually.

That's why they're in the bowl, after all.

"Our male is," the escort says, taking another pause. "Lonan Hurritt."

_Hurritt._

That name is familiar somehow. After thinking about it, I realize that it was one of the Head Peacekeeper's names in the District. That Peacekeeper ordered his men to do nightly raids on people's home to search for rebels. He was taken care of, though. By who, I'm not sure.

All I know is that he was killed.

Why would his son be in that bowl, though? What has he done?

As District Eleven appears on the screen, and here, the Reapings are taking place in an apple orchard. Nothing is burned or destroyed, though. Not like Nine or Ten.

"From District Eleven," the escort says, opening the card from the male's bowl. "We have Alumax Derian."

When the boy steps into the aisle, the first thing I notice are the scars on the back of his neck. They look like they're from whippings. He physically looks angry, but as he walks to the stage, the anger disappears. He looks relieved, looking up towards the sky and nodding his head.

He stands next to the escort, and she calls out the next name. "Cailen Arkley."

The girl can't hold back her gasp. The camera focuses on the girl as she holds her hands over her mouth. She starts to shake, crying out and sobbing. Tears begin to run down her face, shaking her head and her hands wiping the tears under her eyes.

She stares at the trees behind the stage, not wanting to look at anyone in the eyes. When she's on the stage, she stares forward, but not at anyone in particular. She stares at the trees still.

All of this is terrible.

Kid after kid, it evokes even more emotion in me. How could the Capitol do this? It baffles me.

The final District is up next. District Twelve appears on the screen and all I see is white. Peacekeepers are everywhere; standing in between the kids, standing on the outside of the groups, on top of buildings, behind the escort. District Twelve is unsurprisingly the most guarded District.

After Katniss and Ashra, I'm not surprised.

Things are still boiling in District Twelve.

"Amias Black."

In the crowd of boys, the camera focuses on Amias. He stands there, staring off into the distance pensively. I'm sure a thousand thoughts are running through his head. He looks surprised, if anything. The Peacekeepers grab him forcefully, dragging him towards the stage. They toss him onto it, his face looking shell-shocked now. He stares at the crowd as they stare back at him.

The escort then goes to the female's bowl, picks out a card, and unfolds it. "Wren Maddox."

Calmly, the girl steps out of the crowd, and pauses before walking forward. She opens her mouth but shuts it quickly, and as she proceeds forward, she doesn't show any emotion. She smirks as she approaches the stage, giving Amias a quick glance.

"Here you go, District Twelve!"

And, with that, the television screen goes black.

The Reapings have concluded.

I knew that this Quarter Quell would be hard for me to deal with, but after seeing the kids get reaped… I can't believe it. I can't believe that the Capitol has the audacity to do this. Why not find rebels and capture them? Why not put actual rebels in the arena?

Why put our children? The youth of Panem?

It's terrible. All of this is terrible.

They must be stopped. They have gone too far this time.

Is there anything we can do, though? To stop the Capitol?

_Yes. There's always something that can be done._

_We are District Thirteen. _

_We are the Rebellion._

_And we are full of surprises._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

This chapter was long. Don't worry; not every chapter will be this length from one POV, but I just wanted to do the Reapings in one part to get them out of the way and to make it flow. I didn't expect it to be this long, though.

Well, there are the Reapings, then. We get a glimpse of the Rebellion from a rebel's perspective and now we see that District Thirteen is involved.

Did anyone stand out? If so, who?

What tributes' POVs are you really looking forward to?


	4. Train Rides

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

><p><strong>Otrera Hale<br>District Four Female, 18 Years Old  
>Train Rides<strong>

* * *

><p>"Elbows off the table, please."<p>

Jonah looks up from resting his head on his hands, and when we make eye-contact, I wink. He raises his eyebrows, bringing his arms down to his lap. Batting my eyelashes, I stare at him a little longer, assessing him. He seems like a nice boy.

Nice boys shouldn't volunteer for the Hunger Games.

Nice boys are easily manipulated. Nice boys are easily killed.

I might be easy, but boys are even easier.

To make it even better, he is quite the looker. Brown hair, brown eyes – he's the whole package. That's if you overlook his messy hair and the clothes he's wearing, though. He has the looks, but does he have the personality? That's the important question.

It's not always about looks.

Jonah goes to pick some pastry off of a platter on the table, and after watching him take his first bite, I go for some food as well. I go for the cupcake with pink icing and a pearl on top. Taking the pearl off, I pick up my spoon, scooping some of the icing off of it.

"So, tell me about yourself, Jonah," I say, licking the icing off of the spoon. I take my time, making sure he's watching my every move, my every breath. "What do you like to do?"

"I – uh," Jonah begins, stuttering on his words. "I like to train."

"I figured as much," I reply, reaching over the table to wrap my fingers around muscles. He tenses up from the touch, and I gently squeeze, still smiling at him. Really, he has no muscle, but I wouldn't tell him that. Boys have a fragile ego. "Tell me how you get so big."

"That's enough," Evadne berates from behind me, placing her hand on my shoulder as she pulls me back into my seat. Crossing my arms over my chest, I roll my eyes, finally looking away from Jonah. "Don't harass the boy."

"I just wanted to make a friend."

"A friend, huh?" Tigris says, a laugh following. "Are you this way with all of your friends?"

"You should try it," I snap, staring down at my plate. I don't like getting angry, but when people like her question me, it bothers me. "Maybe people would like you then. Even at your old age, Tigris."

"Oh?" Tigris responds with no shift in her tone. "Snappy, aren't you?"

Shifting in my seat, I grip the cushion, the agitation bubbling inside of me. I don't like when people speak to me like that – so patronizingly, so condescendingly.

"Hello, Tigris and Evadne," Jonah says, interrupting the conversation, extending his arm. Evadne shakes his first and then Tigris takes her turn. "I'm Jonah. It's nice to meet you."

A boy with manners.

That's a plus.

"Jonah," Evadne says, nodding her head. "Tigris and I respect your ambition to – as you said – 'amend' your aunt's actions."

What did his aunt do, anyway? And, more importantly, why would they respect him?

Isn't he a rebel?

Turning around in my seat, I look at Tigris and Evadne. I smile sweetly, waving my fingers at them. "I'm Otrera."

"We know who you are, Hale," Tigris deadpans, directing her attention back on Jonah. Tigris attempts to continue conversation with Jonah, but I stand up from my seat, blocking Tigris' view of Jonah.

"Do we have a problem here?" I ask straightforwardly. "Might as well put it all out on the table now."

Tigris stands up as well, but Evadne extends her arm, trying to calm Tigris down. Tigris pushes Evadne's arm away, and as she strides over towards me, I don't falter. Is it because of my aunt?

Is that why she has a vendetta against me already?

"Watch it, Otrera" Tigris says quietly enough that only I can hear it. "Remember the deal?"

"Yes," I say, gulping. Of course I do. The deal that put me here in the first place.

"You acting up would hurt the chances of your family surviving, don't you think?"

Biting my lip, I refuse to allow myself to open my mouth again. To retort. To speak back to her. She has a point. She's not a rebel; she supports the Capitol, and if I don't comply with the deal… She can tell the District to kill my family.

I have to watch myself.

Sulking, I sit back down in my seat, avoiding eye-contact with Jonah. I don't want him to see me like this.

"That's what I thought," Tigris sneers, and as she sits down, the train is in complete silence. You can't even hear anyone breathing.

_The deal, _I remind myself. _It's all for the deal. _

Leaning back in the chair, I pick up the spoon, playing with the cupcake. I jab my spoon into it, feeling them all staring at me still. Staring down at my lap, I try to distance myself from it all, not wanting them to look at me anymore.

I don't want to be here anymore… But, I have to. For the deal.

My family will die if I don't. _I _will die if I don't.

Shaking my head, I close my eyes, holding back the tears that are forming at the corners of my eyes. I can't cry. I can't look ugly. That's not who I am… _This _isn't who I am. I never planned on volunteering for the Games – to become a tribute. To fight for my own life.

I'm not a rebel, either. I never supported the Rebellion. I would prefer it if it none of it ever happened. If it didn't, I'd still be in District Four. I'd be home.

_I don't want to be here._

_I didn't want to volunteer._

I didn't even get myself into this mess in the first place. Or my family, for that matter.

It was my aunt. She joined the Rebellion.

_She's_ the reason I'm here.

* * *

><p><strong>Nathaniel Bayle<br>District Eight Male, 18 Years Old  
>Train Rides<strong>

* * *

><p>Sitting on the couch, I begin to pick my fingernails, feeling overly anxious.<p>

I promised myself I wouldn't freak out _if _I did get Reaped. Everyone always told me I'm too high-strung and too panicky, anyway. I couldn't help it, though, when I actually Reaped. When my name was really called.

I couldn't believe it at first.

That I – the writer and editor of a pamphlet – would be Reaped for the Hunger Games. Was what I've done so wrong? So threatening to the Capitol?

They saw it that way, apparently. I didn't.

I was just spreading awareness and raised morale. My father began his pamphlet titled 'The Red Rose' a few years back, and after Katniss Everdeen began to protest with Ashra of District Twelve, it spread like wildfire. Everyone was reading his pamphlet.

It's what got him killed, though. And my mother.

They paid the price, and now, I am too.

"Hello, Claire and Nathaniel."

Turning around, I see Lonnie and Wallace make their way into the train, walking over towards Claire first. She sits at the table, her head resting on her arm as she plays with the food on her plate. They greet her, shaking hands and patting her on the shoulder. Lonnie sits down next to her, whispering into her ear as Claire lifts her head up.

Wallace approaches me, his arm extended, and as I reach for it, he grasps mine firmly. "Frederick Bayle, correct?"

I nod. "That was my father."

"I was very fond of his… work, if you will," he says, releasing my hand as he chuckles. "Can I call you Nate?"

"Nate is fine," I say, scooting over on the couch so that Wallace has enough room. He takes a seat, kicks up his leg on the table, and stretches his arm behind his head.

"I won't lie to you, kid," he says, staring forward at his boots. "You're in a sticky situation. The Capitol will be watching your every move, that's for sure. If you do one thing wrong they'll exploit it."

"I'm aware," I say, my voice not as firm as I want it to be. I don't want him to know that I'm so scared. That I'm terrified about the idea of dying. "What do you recommend I do, then?"

"Stop picking your nails to begin with," he says, nudging me with his elbow. I shove my hands under my legs, feeling embarrassed that he mentioned it. "Seriously, though. Just don't get the words 'Down with the Capitol' tattooed on your forehead and you'll be fine."

I laugh, seeing Wallace look at me for the first time. "I'll make sure not to do that."

"What's going on here?" Lonnie asks, coming over to the sitting area with Claire's hand wrapped in hers. "We want to laugh too."

"Glad you can join us, Lon'. You too, Claire."

Lonnie smiles, and with a gesture, she and Claire take a seat across from us. "I don't believe you two have properly met."

"I'm Nathaniel," I say, nodding at her and waving my hand. "Or Nate, whatever you prefer."

"Hi," Claire says, her voice quiet. She's not looking directly at me, but rather, to the side of me or out the window. "I'm Claire."

"How cute," Wallace comments, looking at me and then Claire. "I can see this blossoming into something beautiful."

"Leave them alone," Lonnie says, her smile still on her face. "We won't badger you, but you two should get to know one another. Alliances can be quite useful."

"Says the one who went through her Games alone," Wallace comments, and Lonnie kicks his foot with hers, the two of them laughing. "She has a point, though."

I never thought about an alliance.

The idea of trusting someone in the Games always rubbed me the wrong way. It's so easy to betray someone and backstab them, so why would I open myself to that risk? To let myself become so vulnerable?

"Or not," Wallace says, filling up the silence that followed their suggestion. "It's up to you guys."

"This year, it will be helpful to not go into this alone," Lonnie says, giving Wallace a look. This year… It's because we're all rebels. They aren't going to make the Games easy. "So, think about it."

I shrug. Maybe I will think about allying with Claire. From what I can tell, she seems nice enough and not as conniving as I assume most people are. Wallace and Lonnie engage in some side conversation, while Claire just stares down at the ground.

The only question I have regarding Claire is why she's here. What could she have done? She doesn't seem so overbearing that the Capitol wanted to get rid of her, ardent enough for me to think she led a protest, or something more extreme.

Perhaps she was in the background like I was.

She probably heard of my pamphlet. Everyone has.

It worked, though. I can safely say that.

With the Capitol, you have to fight fire with fire.

I might not have joined the frontlines or taken up arms, but I still made a difference.

I spread propaganda. I was creative in my own ways.

Because of my own actions and beliefs, I'm going into the Hunger Games.

And I don't regret a thing.

* * *

><p><strong>Gerri Faulkes<br>District Seven Female, 16 Years Old  
>Train Rides<strong>

* * *

><p>"Thank you for not causing a scene."<p>

Kearn, who is supposed to be Audrey's mentor, whispers into my ear. He raises his eyebrow, a sullen expression on his face. I smile at him, nodding my head. He pats me on the shoulder, taking a seat on the couch across from me and sits in silence.

The train isn't silent, though. Dara and Audrey have been going at it for a few minutes now.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?!" Dara screams, her voice hoarse already from screaming so much. I lean back in the couch, bringing my knees up to my chest as I sit back and watch. "They already hate you, Audrey. Do you not have any regard for yourself?"

"It's unfair," Audrey retorts. "And you know it. Stop acting like the victim here. None of this affects you; I'll be the one going into that arena!"

"_I'm _playing the victim?" Dara shouts, dumbfounded at his accusation. "You got yourself into this mess. You are the one who got yourself involved in the Rebellion."

"I got involved while people like you sat in your nice little gated community, enjoying the luxuries that the Capitol provides you," Audrey snaps, the anger in his voice making me get tense. What if screams at me? I haven't done anything. "You're just as bad as them."

It was my father.

It wasn't me… It was him and his newspapers.

"I already went through that shit," Dara says, exasperated. "Don't make it seem like you're the only one who has problems with the Capitol."

"Then do something about it, Dara. If you hate the Capitol, then act upon it. Don't be a coward."

"A coward?!"

"Yes, a coward. That's exactly what you are," Audrey says, his voice getting louder and louder. All of the screaming is hurting my head now, and as I glance at Kearn, he just stares at the window. "Do you really hate the Capitol, Dara? Or are you just saying that?"

"I can't say," Dara concedes, her voice quiet now. She averts her eyes to the ground, pressing her fingers against her forehead. She closes her eyes, lets out a deep sigh, and says, "I cannot say what I feel towards them."

"Coward," Audrey utters, throwing his head back. He slams his fists down on the table, making the knives and forks around him jump in the air. "All the victors are."

Dara walks through the sliding doors, her head still sulking. Kearn stands up, gesturing that he's going to follow her. I nod my head, and when they leave me alone with Audrey, I try to avoid eye-contact. I don't want to start anything with him. I just won't make an effort to be nice with him, I guess.

I don't think he's seeing what Dara and Kearn can do for him. One thing you should never is upset your mentors; in a way, these are the people that will help you get through all of this. They will guide you and give you advice. If Audrey doesn't want that, then that's his fault.

I don't feel bad for him, then. I won't have sympathy for someone who starts fights needlessly.

Leaning my head on the window, I stare at the window, watching the trees pass by. One tree after another, we speed along the track, inching closer and closer to the Capitol. I can't help but think of how they'll treat us there. Will they hate us? Before we even really make an impression, don't they already have one?

We're considered rebels.

They won't like us.

Even the ones that aren't as ardent and aggressive as Audrey – like me. When I heard about the Quell, I knew that there would be less people in that bowl. It only meant more chances for me… It was like I was already reaped. I blame my father.

And I still do. It was all him.

All of this is his fault.

He might have done it for the good of the people, but is he happy now? Is he happy that his daughter is about to go into the Hunger Games? They threw my father in jail for simply being the editor of a newspaper that spread propaganda. He said that it was the right thing to do.

That the rebels had the right idea for Panem.

Look how far that got him.

Biting my lip, I shake my head, shifting my gaze outside of the window. I stare up at the sky, the clouds in the sky drifting by. It all seems so serene. It seems like no rebellion is going, that this train isn't about to the Capitol. The one place that my father was fighting against and always telling me how awful it was is the place I'm going.

This is punishment, isn't it?

But, what about me? I didn't do anything.

The Capitol just abuses their power. The Districts can do nothing under their oppressive regime. We can't even leave our houses or walk outside without random searches. We even had a curfew. The worst part of it all is that they believe this is what will solve the issue.

That this will stop all of the riots in District Seven. That by shooting masses of people and killing innocent citizens will subdue the rebellion.

It won't. It only intensifies their cause.

That's all this is doing too. By sending rebel's children into the Hunger Games, they are giving them a reason to fight more. To fight harder. If they're going to humiliate and dehumanize us, then the rebels will do that to them. They won't go down without a fight.

And neither will I.

That's one thing my father taught me: To not give up, especially not in the face of danger.

"Gerri?"

Feeling someone's hand on my shoulder, I snap out of my daze, looking right into the eyes of Dara. She smiles, nodding for me to come with her. Food is now set on the table where Audrey and Kearn are sitting. I know that I'll come back to my thoughts soon enough.

I find solace in my head sometimes. I like to be alone and to think.

"Let's eat," Dara says, walking me over to the table. "Enjoy it, guys."

_Enjoy it._

As if the food will distract me from where I'm headed off to.

That I'll forget about going into the Hunger Games.

About the chance of me dying.

_The chance of me dying for my father's actions._

* * *

><p><strong>Amias Black<br>District Twelve Male, 14 Years Old  
>Train Rides<strong>

* * *

><p>"This is bullshit!"<p>

Wren and I are startled, our hands dropping the forks onto our plates. It clatters against the metal plate, and as we both look at the doors, we see Ashra stampeding through. She's visibly angry and in her hands is a tablet of some sort.

"Do you see this?" She asks, forcefully shoving the tablet in our escort's face. "They are just kids."

Ashra gives a quick glance, but she furrows her eyebrows and looks away. She throws the tablet down onto the table, making a plate sliding off of the edge. She balls her hands into fists, presses one against her lips, and then shoves it down to her side.

"I didn't win for any of this to happen," she says, not giving our escort a chance to reply. Wren and I sit there in silence, not even looking at one another. We just stare at Ashra. "I didn't win for any of this to happen and Katniss sure as hell didn't die for any of this to happen!"

"It's not your fault, Ashra."

"Isn't it? That's what everyone is making it seem like! Even District Twelve has the audacity to put the blame on me!" Ashra voice raises, and as she screams at the top of the train, I don't know what to do.

I was never good around angry people.

"They don't blame you, Ashra."

"But, they do! They all expect _me _to become the new 'Girl on Fire,' the one to spearhead this Rebellion!" She screams, and at the mention of Katniss, I look down at the ground. Katniss is like an idol in District Twelve. "I can't handle all of this bullshit. And now, with the Quarter Quell…"

"Ashra, please. The kids are trying to eat."

"The kids?!" She says, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically. "They're no kids, no! They're rebels, can't you see?"

_Is that what I am now? A rebel?_

"To the Capitol, they are the ones who deserve to be punished. Not me. Not any other surviving victor."

"Don't blame yourself for this too, Ashra."

After Ashra won, that's when the Rebellion really kicked up. In District Twelve, fighting and protests broke out. The District began to implement curfews, build guard towers, and as more and more Peacekeepers arrived in the District, it seemed like a massive prison.

After seeing it all, I couldn't take it any longer. But, I would have never thought to join a protest... And even when I did join the protest, it was unintentional. I never meant to get involved.

"And now, they are going to kill the children of Panem. The rebels kill a Victor or two that support the Capitol, and in return, the Capitol kills all victors that support the Rebellion and now, they are going to kill children."

The escort stays quiet now. She knows this is true.

"Why don't they kill the rebels they have captured?" Ashra screams, and the escort has given up trying to calm her down. She's just screaming at the air now, the tension making Wren and I sit in silence. "Or, better yet, why don't they go to Thirteen and capture some fresh ones? That sounds like a good idea!"

"Ashra…"

"No! Do not think for a second that I will tolerate this!"

"I'm not asking you to."

"First Katniss and now this. This is sickening," she bellows, her throat hoarse. She just sounds upset now. "What else will they do? Kill the victors that don't support them? That don't kiss their feet?"

"Please, Ashra."

"They might as well kill me, then. I'm sorry Amias and Wren, but I'm done letting the Capitol walk all over me," Ashra says loudly, but it's not much of a scream anymore. She sounds serious. "They took it too far this time."

Although I want to say something, I keep my mouth shut, sitting quietly in my seat as I watch Ashra scream at the escort. She drawls on, and after she's out of breath, she falls into the cushion of the couch and sits in silence. She's breathing heavily, and even though I would go over there and comfort her, I stay at table.

Ashra might hate the Capitol, but I don't. I don't _hate _them – hate is a strong word.

I might not like them, but I don't know if it's hatred. I feel sorry for them, if anything. It'd be impossible to like a Capitol citizen; even the people that live there, not just the officials and the President, have caused so much pain and heartache throughout the Districts.

Hate is still a strong word, though. I believe the Capitol people don't know any better.

They were raised to like and enjoy the Hunger Games. To have a superior attitude. If they really wanted to stop the Hunger Games, they couldn't because of the President. He's the one with all of the power.

The one who's in control.

The Districts never had any say or any power. They always had to comply and be obedient, and the one time they weren't, they were punished. I wasn't necessarily punished individually, but my District was. Katniss was killed.

She was a symbol of the Rebellion. She was the Mockingjay.

District Twelve might have been hit hard with Katniss and all, but there's so much more to it than just Twelve. Other Districts suffered from the Victor's Purge, too.

That's why I feel bad for Ashra. Her and Katniss were so close, nearly like sisters. And then, she was just killed. Now, District Twelve is beginning to blame Ashra and expecting so much of her. They want her to becoming the new Mockingjay, the new symbol of the Rebellion.

That must be why she's so angry and stressed out.

I would be, too.

Haven't I already done enough, though?

I led a protest. The boy who couldn't refuse doing someone's homework for them. The boy who couldn't squish a bug with his shoe. It all got to me.

My sister's death. The suffering in District Twelve.

The selfishness of the Peacekeepers. The sick reality of the Games.

It's all downright evil.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the Reapings chapter! And the other two chapters as well. I appreciate every review I get, and although I have all motivation to PM everyone who reviews and thank them, I'm lazy. So, thank you, once again.

It means a lot to me.

Here are the Train Rides – four POVs; that's how most of my chapters will be. Next chapter will be Chariot Rides with another four tributes being introduced.

Only one question this time: Did anyone stand out? If so, who?

That's all from me. Next chapter should be up within a week once again.


	5. Chariot Rides

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

><p><strong>Marlin Crichton<br>District Three Male, 18 Years Old  
>Chariot Rides Preparation <strong>

* * *

><p>"Why am I here?"<p>

As the stylist enters the room with a clipboard in hand, she pauses, looking at me with a smile on her face. The door closes behind her and she gets a pen out of her pocket and starts jotting down notes. When she doesn't seem like she's going to answer my question, I ask it again.

"Why am I here?"

"Because you were reaped, dear," she says, looking up from her notes. "Why else would you be here?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. That's not what I want to hear. "_Why_ am I here?"

"You tell me."

"If I knew I wouldn't be asking."

"Figure it out, then."

Pouting, I lean back, resting my head on the wall. I look up at the ceiling, then at the door, then at stylist, and then back at the ceiling. I really don't know why I'm here. All I remember was being taken up to the stage by a Peacekeeper. Then, I stood next to Aella, the girl who also is here with me.

What did she do to be reaped?

"Do you know who Aella is?"

"Yes, your partner," she replies, nodding her head and tapping the pen on the clipboard. "She's very pretty."

"Do you know why she's here?"

"No, Marlin. I do not know why anyone is here."

"Okay."

Back on the trains, Aidan and Aisha told us to be careful. Aella was confused, and so was I, and when Aella questioned them, they told her because we're unwanted here. That they won't like us. Then, I asked them why I am here.

They didn't know, either.

No one seems to know.

Aella told me why she was here, though, but I forgot most of it. It had something to do with her uncle and then she said the Capitol now hates her. Maybe that's what they meant when they told us to be careful.

"Do you think the Capitol will hate me?"

The stylist raises an eyebrow and clicks the top of the pen. "Only if you make them hate you."

"I don't want them to hate me," I say, a little upset at the idea of the Capitol hating me for no reason. "No one has ever hated me."

"There's a first for everything," the stylist says, walking over towards a locker in the corner of the room. "Now, if you don't mind, can you please stand up?"

Standing up, I walk over towards her, and see that next to the locker is a mirror. I can only see my chin, though, and nothing above that. The stylist laughs, and I crouch over, looking at the rest of my head.

I smile at myself. "I don't look like someone people would want to hate."

The stylist passes me a hanger with a dark gray suit on it. I put that on, occasionally glancing at myself in the mirror. The suit is loose, with a lot of room for my arms and legs to move around in. Next, she gives me a gray cap, and when I try to put it on, the hair on the back of my head sticks out.

After I fix the hair, she wraps cuffs around my wrists and then my ankles. They're made of metal, and when I try to move my hands, I can feel how heavy they are. Once they're on me, she takes out chains from a black bag in the locker.

"What am I supposed to be?"

"Use your imagination."

Dragging the chains along the ground, she attaches them to the cuffs on my ankles. They dangle on the ground, and when I try to spread my legs out, I can only move so far. She reaches for my hands, but I pull them away, still wanting to be able to move my hands.

"I want to move my hands."

"After."

I nod my head, letting her attach the chains now. I'm glad these won't be on me for the rest of the time in the Capitol. She's finished now, and I walk back over towards the mirror, looking at the part of my body I can see completely. I shake a little bit, making the chains create a sound.

"That hurts my ears."

"So, stop."

The stylist opens up the door, but before we leave, I look at myself one last time. I'm in all gray with these chains on me. I might not like this, but I hope the Capitol will. I don't want them to hate me, so I hope this makes them like me.

And then I remember that I still don't know the answer to my question.

"I still don't know why I'm here."

"Sh," the stylist says, stuffing the hair on the back of my head under the cap. She grabs my shoulder, shakes me, and then readjusts the tightness of the chains. "You'll figure out sooner or later."

"Tell me."

"I don't know."

Why is she being so difficult?

I just want to know why I'm here.

I don't think I've done anything wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>Lonan Hurritt<br>District Ten Male, 15 Years Old  
>Chariot Rides Preparation <strong>

* * *

><p>"I look like an idiot."<p>

"This is _nothing _compared to what we have planned for you."

_Great._

The stylist reaches her hand towards to me, but I pull it away, not letting her touch me. I shoot her a glare of disgust, and she utters something to herself, returning to her clipboard. Crossing my arms over my chest, I leap up onto the table, keeping my legs straight and my body motionless.

I want her to at least know I don't want to be here.

I'm sure my father would enjoy this, though. If he was still alive, that is.

Puffing my chest out, I snicker, rolling my eyes. It's comical, really, that the District thought that I was the one – his fourteen year old son, I shall add – who killed him. As if I had it in me.

I might have loathed his mere existence, but I would never kill my own father. If that were the case, I'd be detained, but since I never actually killed him, they gave me the luxury of going into the Hunger Games. At least they're giving me somewhat of a chance to survive.

"Would you rather go to prison and rot away or go into the arena and be killed?"

"Well, Lonan," the stylist says, looking up from her clipboard. She brings her finger to her chin, genuinely thinking about the question. I think I like her more than I originally thought. "When and how would I die in the arena?"

I shrug, conjuring up a Games in my mind with the stylist as tribute. "Day Five with only eight tributes left. You would be killed by the District One male. Sword through the heart."

"More importantly," she adds, looking at me with a smirk on her face. "What would I be wearing when I die?"

"All black."

"I'd rather go to prison, then. I'd rather wear neon orange and white stripes than black."

"Good choice."

"What about you?"

The question stumps me at first, since when I think about it, I don't really know much about the prisons in District Ten. My father from time-to-time mentioned things about it, like the detainees and how they act there. A lot of them lose their mind, he said. It never really sounded too pleasant.

Are the Hunger Games more pleasant, though? Is the idea of twenty-four kids fighting each other more appealing?

"I'd say the arena," I answer, getting a questioning expression on her face from my stylist. "I'd have some free-will there. I would be able to at least get out, you know? You're basically stuck in a prison for life."

"You make a fair argument, Lonan."

"I usually do."

The stylist walks over to a locker in the corner of the room, inserts a key in the lock, and lifts the handle up. The door opens, and the stylist reaches in, taking out an outfit with a cover over it. She gestures for me to stand up, and as I do, I feel relieved that I'll be getting out of this. As soon as we got to the Capitol, we were told to go to change into an all gray suit that has a Capitol emblem on the chest of it.

When she takes off the cover, I don't quite understand what it's supposed to be. Usually, we have something at least relevant to our District's industry, but this year, it has nothing to do with it. It's an even darker gray suit, and where the wrists and ankles are, there are large metal cuffs.

"This is for you."

"Is this a joke?"

"No," she replies. "Please, get dressed."

"I'm not wearing that."

"You have to."

"I don't have to do anything I'm told to," I sneer, shaking my head. "That's why I'm here, right? Because I was a bad boy and didn't follow directions."

"Please, Lonan."

"No."

"Don't make me get the Peacekeepers."

"Do you think they know my father? Or knew, I should say."

The escort holds the outfit on the hanger out in front of her, giving it a quick shake. I roll my eyes, swallow my pride, and grab it out of her hands. Stripping down from what I'm already dressed in, I slip on the next outfit, this one being much looser. It looks sloppy on me, and when I clip the cuffs on my wrists and ankles, I scoff.

"Very creative."

She passes me a bag, and I unzip it, seeing that there are chains in it. I pull them out, letting them dangle in the air, and I go to attach the ones for my wrists. They attach in front of me, and the stylist comes over, inserting a key into the hinge and locking them. She then helps me with the ankle ones, and when I try to take a step forward, I really can't move at all.

"Do you get any satisfaction out of this?"

"I didn't design them."

To finish off this masterpiece, she holds out a gray cap. I put it on, the cap hiding all of my hair and covering some of my forehead. The escort grabs my shoulders, directing me towards the door now. The chains clank together, the sound hurting my ears after a while.

The door opens, showing two Peacekeepers. Their faces are covered, but I could only imagine what face they're making right now. They're probably all enjoying this. I know my father would.

He was twisted like that.

In a way, he deserved to be killed.

Perhaps I deserve to be killed too, then.

For _all _of the things I've done.

* * *

><p><strong>Jonah Danick<br>District Four Male, 18 Years Old  
>Chariot Rides <strong>

* * *

><p>All around, the chains are rattling.<p>

The District One's chariot sets into motion, with the girl bobbing her head side-to-side while the male stands there completely motionless. All of the tributes are dressed in the same attire; the gray suit and cap with the cuffs and chains.

I don't like looking like this. It's giving off the wrong message.

"You could at least try to look happy, Jonah," Otrera says, attempting to bring her hand up to fix a piece of hair, but because of the chains, she can't move past a certain point. "I wouldn't want them all to be mesmerized by just me."

"I'll try."

"Just relax," Otrera says, rolling her shoulders back, pulling the chain with her. "You'll be fine."

The large doors slide open, and once I see the crowd, it's exactly what I thought it would look like. The crowds of people, dressed in all different colors. Their weird hairstyles, their accessories.

These are the people I'm fighting for. The ones I volunteered to protect and bring honor to.

_It's more than just that, though, isn't it? There's always a story behind it all._

When District Two's chariot begins to move, I hear something be chanted outside. I can't really hear anything just yet, but when I look at the tributes from Two, I can tell from her body movement that she isn't too thrilled. She stands there stiffly, and although I can't see her face, I can imagine the grudge. The boy, though, seems livelier.

District Three exits the garage, the sound of the chants getting louder and louder as we approach the exit. The first thing I notice about the girl from Three, besides her bright red hair, is the way she's the only tribute so far to be moving her hands. She's constrained, though, and doesn't have a lot of wiggle room. The boy is turned around, looking around the garage rather than ahead. He seems lost.

District Four is at the exit now, and I glance at Otrera who's already staring at me. She winks, licks her lips, and I snap my head away. She's trying to distract me. I can't have that. When we leave the garage, I'm bombarded with the chants.

They're booing us.

They're shouting slang and curse words at us.

"What?" I utter, jerking forward as the chariot strides forward. The chains are still rattling, the sound of them clanking and shaking being heard from all around. "No…"

Why are they booing us?

They should be booing my aunt, not me. She's the one who killed the victor from our District, not me. It was her.

Why do they hate us?

_Because you're all supposed to rebels,_ I remind myself. _They don't know about you yet._

My aunt should be the one who's hated. Not me.

"Calm down, babe," Otrera coos, still having a smile on her face. It's like she's enjoying this.

This treatment we're all getting.

"If you think this is bad, then you shouldn't have volunteered."

I _had _to volunteer.

For my family and friends. For my District. For the Capitol.

It was all worth the risk.

Looking over my shoulder, I look at the District Five's chariot, seeing something go hurling towards them. It looks like a fruit of some sort, but the girl moves her head, dodging it. The boy still stands there, his ears perked up. When the girl sees me staring at her, she smirks, trying to pick up her hand but is bolted down.

Behind them are the two from District Six. The girl looks miserable, while the boy is more animated. The girl stares at the ground, watching the horses as they trudge forward. He has a small smile on his face as he grips his hands around the chains. At least he's trying to make the best of the situation.

I should act like that too.

All of this booing, this screaming, it will all be gone soon. I won't have to deal with this for much longer.

Things will get better.

They always do.

Feeling Otrera's hand slide up my thigh, I tense up, my chain restricting my movement. I hear her giggle next to me, and I stare forward, trying to block out all of the booing. They aren't booing me… They are booing Otrera.

She's the one to hate. Not me.

I never did anything wrong. My aunt did. I always did what I was supposed, followed the rules, and never disobeyed the law. I attended a Training Academy for the Games. I volunteered to fight for the Capitol and its goodness.

I shouldn't be treated like this.

Closing my eyes tightly, I feel something light hit my shoulder, and still, Otrera is sliding up her hand. I'm not the one to hate, why don't they see that? Otrera is. The rest of them are.

_I'm not one of them. I'm not like them._

_I'm not a rebel._

* * *

><p><strong>Alumax Derian<br>District Eleven Male, 17 Years Old  
>Chariot Rides <strong>

* * *

><p>The chariot comes to a halt.<p>

We're positioned like a horse-shoe, all circling a large tower. I stare upwards, squinting my eyes to try to see who's coming out. Would they even risk letting the President come out to speak to us?

After all, we are rebels. We all are trying to kill him.

Two Peacekeepers step onto the platform, both of them carrying a machine of some sort. When they place it down, the machine lights up, emitting a figure that floats above us. It's a hologram of the President.

"What is that?" Cailen asks, nudging me with her forearm. "Is that the President?"

"I guess so."

The President waves his arms, silencing all of the booing and screaming. I've tuned it all out, and when it's all silence, I feel a bit more comfortable. Well, as comfortable as I'll get; I still have all of these people staring down at me, all judging me for a thing I didn't even do.

They're all watching me. I'm rebel scum to them.

But, it wasn't even me.

It was my brother.

"Welcome, Panem," the hologram says, and the crowd of Capitol citizens erupts into clapping and whistles. The hologram waves his hand again, making them all go quiet. I hear Cailen mumble something, but I ignore it, focusing on the President. "Welcome, tributes."

I'm surprised he even called us tributes.

I was expecting something more along the lines of 'wretched vermin who plague this nation'.

"I personally wish you a Happy Hunger Games," the hologram says, staring down at us tributes below him. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

Sensing Cailen begin to shake next to me, I mover over an inch, not wanting to attract any of her attention. It's not that I dislike her or anything, but one thing I've learned quickly is how emotional she is. Oliver told her back on the trains that maybe Cailen should watch how much she eats – Cailen nearly lost it.

The chariot jerks back into motion and Cailen grips her fingers around the chains. She's still shaking, and as I stare off into the crowd, I feel them all staring at me still.

They're all watching me… They're all judging me.

Looking away, I look at the ground for the rest of the way back into the garage. I don't want them looking at me anymore. I don't want them to see me as something other than who I really am.

It was my brother. Not me.

And, even then, he wasn't a rebel. He just wanted to prove something.

He wanted to prove that the Capitol didn't own him. That they didn't own any of him or his allies.

But, me? I was never a rebel. I might have had rebellious ideas, but I never acted on them. I was always smarter than that.

I try to bring my hands up to cover the scars on my neck, but the chains won't let me move that far. Tilting back my head, I scrunch up my neck, not wanting anyone to see them. I don't want the Capitol to see those… They'll judge me even more.

Tensing up, I try even harder to free my hands from the chains, but I can't do anything. I feel trapped by these, and when I see us nearing the garage, I close my eyes, not wanting to see anyone anymore. I just want to go back to our District Floor.

Finally, we reach the garage, and when the chariot stops, I wait for our stylists to detach us from the chariot. She takes off Cailen's chains first, and she waits for me, her arms wrapped around her stomach. I step down from the chariot once my chains are removed, being met by our mentors, Oliver and Kaeya.

"We'll talk about it later," Olive says to Cailen and I. "I never expected this."

"There's nothing to say," I say, walking ahead of them. Cailen scurries to catch up to me, but I walk faster, trying to get away from her. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Where are you going?" Cailen asks, but I turn left, going into an elevator alone. I close the door quickly, and once the doors slide closed, I lean against the wall and sigh.

I have to remind myself that Keld went through the same exact things. The train ride, the chariots, the training. He went through all of this last year.

If he can do it, so can I.

If he can stand up for something in his life, so can I.

If he can make a difference, then so can I.

I might not have done anything rebellious back in District Eleven, despite these scars on the back of my neck, but now, I have to live up to my brother. He was the one I always looked up to, and one year later, I'm in the Games now, not him.

He already made his difference.

He chose to jump off that plate.

And, now, it's my turn.

_I can't let him down._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Hi.

There you have it – the Chariot Rides!

There's not much to see, though. They're all wearing the same thing.

Let's be honest, Chariot Rides aren't the most exciting part of the Capitol. This isn't the most riveting chapter, I'll admit. I'm glad I finished these, eh. Next up is Training Day One and things will definitely pick up then. We'll be meeting more tributes, so that's fun as well!

So, you can tell me who stood out and whatnot and if you have any favorites so far.

(And, apparently, I'm too dry in these and lack any emotion. When I say I appreciate all reviews and they mean a lot to me, I'm being serious. Sorry I'm not as animated as some people would like.)


	6. Training Day One

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

><p><strong>Marlon Haigh<br>District Nine Male, 14 Years Old  
>Training<strong>

* * *

><p>"Welcome, tributes, to the Training Center."<p>

The Head Trainer waves their arm, gesturing for us to gather around. We all close-in on him, with the tributes from One, Two, and Four in the front. The boy from District One is off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares directly at the Head Trainer. The girl from Four wanders around, not paying much attention to the man in front of us.

The man goes on to tell us where stations are located, what the rules are, and what we should expect from the next few days. We train for three, then the Private Sessions. It's nothing I haven't heard before.

Slipping my hand in my pocket, I graze my finger along the badge in it, flicking off some of the rust. I grip it in my hands, and when the Head Trainer blows his whistle, I release my grip. It's time to train, not reminisce.

I can't worry about my brother right now.

_I just wish it was that easy._

All around me, they all disperse, headed in different directions. I take a step forward, but once I realize that I don't know where I want to go, I pause. I should go to something I have some experience with, so when I look to see where the sickles, I see that there's no one there.

I want to go there, then.

I just want some alone-time.

The sickles are lined on the wall, all different lengths and with different handles. Some are sharper than the others, the blade being longer and more curved. I go for one of the shorter, light ones, and as I grip it, it doesn't feel right.

None of this does.

_Would it ever feel right?_

_Being reaped for something my brother took part in… Was that ever supposed to feel right?_

I can't think like that. I can't blame my brother – he did nothing wrong. He stood up for himself, he did what most of Panem can't do. He was strong, and although he was considered defiant and a 'rebel', he's still someone I look up to.

He's the one I look up to.

"Marlon?"

Reanine is standing in front of me, looking down at the sickle in my hand. I look up, shaking those thoughts out of my head. I'm here now, and there's nothing I can do about it. The only thing I can do is fight for my life. Fight to survive, fight to honor my brother.

I can't let him die in vain.

"Hi, Reanine."

"Rea," she says, smiling sweetly. "Call me Rea."

"Rea it is," I say. "Just Marlon will do."

"Not Marl'?" She says, laughing, a piece of her hair falling in front of her face. Before we ever talked, she seemed so shy, but at least she's more comfortable around me. That makes me feel better about myself. "Can I see that?"

I nod, handing her the sickle. It weighs her arm down, and she tries to pick it up, but even one of the lighter ones is too much for her to handle. She gets all red, handing it back to me and running her finger along the handle of a different one. She smiles as she does it, and she looks up, but quickly averts her eyes and looks back at the sickle.

"Do you want to be allies, Marl'?" Reanine asks, her voice not sounding so confident. "You don't have to… I was just asking."

"Yes," I say, trying to sound as genuine as possible. I'd like to ally with her, really. I can't say no to a girl like her. "Let's ally, Rea."

Reanine flashes one of her smiles again, turns around, and picks up one of the sickles. She takes the smallest one, one that she can actually carry. She holds it up in the air, but after looking at it for a minute or so, she looks uncomfortable. She shakes her head, puts it back down, and it looks like she's about to ask me something.

"Can we go somewhere else?" She asks, pushing out her lower lip as she spins on her heel, looking around the Training Center. She shrugs, saying, "Let's see what the plants are all about."

Reanine rushes ahead of me, heading for the plant-identification station. There, the District Twelve is sitting, flipping through some pages of the book. Besides him is the girl from District Eleven, also flipping through the pages, but she scrunches her eyebrows, looking like she doesn't quite understand what it's saying.

Reanine eagerly goes over to talk to the boy from Twelve, while the girl from Eleven scoots over to read in silence. I can't help but think that maybe Reanine wants him in this alliance too.

I wouldn't mind, though. Alliances are helpful.

They would help me survive. And I _need _to survive. Not just for me, but also for my brother.

I want to be someone my brother would be proud of.

I don't want him to seem me as some failure.

I want to show him that I'm more than that. That I'm more than just his younger brother, the one that was always so naïve, so happy-go-lucky. I've changed now.

I've changed for him.

* * *

><p><strong>Leilani Theriott<br>District One Female, 18 Years Old  
>Training <strong>

* * *

><p>"You look lost, One."<p>

The girl from District Two appears from behind me, followed by her District partner. She picks up one of the knives on the table, examines her reflected imagine in it, and with a swift flick of her wrist, sends it hurling towards the target. She flares her nostrils, shooting a glance at her partner.

"Levana," she states.

"Mathias," the boy says, giving me a quick wink. "I don't think you can forget a name like that. Or a face like mine."

"Leilani," I add, making sure not to flinch as Levana scoops up another knife, sending it flying towards the target. The first knife hit bulls-eye, while the second is only an inch or so to the right. "And, no, I'm not lost."

"Then why are you just standing around?"

"Ouch," Mathias says, weighing a sword in his hand and then slashes at the air with it. "You just met the poor girl, Lev. Cut her some slack."

"No, no, she's right," I say, scooping up one of the smaller knives on the table. It's delicate, not weighing much in my hand. "Why just stand here, right? We can't have that, can we?"

I throw the first knife. Then a second knife. Then a third.

Picking up another knife, I finally pause for a moment, looking at the target. The knives landed in the stomach, the arm, and the neck, and before I can throw the last knife, I sigh. It's a deep sigh, and slowly, I lower my arm, calming myself down.

_Don't let your emotions consume you._

"That's more like it. Thank you, One."

I shake my head, suppressing a sneer. I was taught better than to be outright disrespectful. "Levana?"

"Yes, One?"

"My name is Leilani."

"You're One to me."

"I am _nothing_ to you," I snap, placing the knife carefully back on the table. Licking my bottom lip, I smile, turning to face Levana. "I am not obligated to be your ally, Levana."

"Tribute incoming," Mathias says, cutting me off so that Levana and I fall silent. "I like this one."

The girl from District Four suddenly comes over, attaching herself to the hip of Mathias. Levana sneers in disgust, making it obvious that she doesn't like her. She disregards the gesture, though, and introduces herself, rustling her hands through Mathias' hair.

"Otrera Hale, District Four," she states, bobbing her head. "Did I miss anything?"

"Yes, actually," Levana says broadly, gesturing towards me with her hands. "My friend Leilani and I were just discussing the alliance this year."

"What's the verdict?" Otrera asks, eying Mathias.

"No."

"No?" Levana looks surprised, but it's feigned. She's unfazed by the idea of not having an alliance with me. "That's a shame."

"I don't understand," Otrera says, her voice grating on my patience. "Why won't we be in an alliance? The Careers are always an alliance."

I shrug, trying to play it off coolly. "Within a few seconds of meeting me, Levana's already made up her mind. She doesn't want me as an ally. Any objections, Otrera?"

Otrera shakes her head, stepping away from Mathias. Levana looks me up and down, a smug grin on her face. Spinning on my heels, I turn around, the boy from District Four, Jonah, meeting my gaze. He averts his eyes, looking back at the spears and making small-talk with the boy from District Six.

Why isn't Levana harassing him as well? Is he not up to her standards as well?

Or, maybe, he just doesn't want to join her alliance that she's attempting to create. I now understand why he's doing what he's doing. Secluding himself, ignoring the rest of the tributes from the Career Districts.

He's not going to conform to the Career-standards. He's being his own person.

I respect that.

That was always something I fought for. Something I'm _still_ fighting for.

I can hear Levana and Mathias chatting behind me, and with one big boost of confidence, I stride over towards Jonah. If they won't respect me, then perhaps he will. I'm not here to be walked all over or to be belittled.

I'm no one's puppet. Especially not someone like Levana.

"Jonah, right?" I say, walking past him and picking up one of the spears. I toss it up in the air, catch it in my hands, and wait for him to respond.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Leilani," he says, the tone in his voice sincere. "What made you come over here?"

With a gentle throw, I toss the spear towards the target, only with enough force to barely impale it. Jonah passes me another one, nodding his head when I take it out of his hands. What a gentleman.

"Have you spoken to Levana yet?" I ask grinning and toss the spear again. Once again, it barely impales the target. "She's lovely, really."

"I'm not sure what to think of her yet," Jonah mumbles, glancing over at Levana. I can only imagine the look she's giving me right now. "

"I'll help you," I reply, not taking the next spear out of his hand. "Don't think of her. Simple as that."

Jonah forces out laughter and throws a spear of his own. The spear he throws goes all the way through the target, poking a hole out the other side. I tilt my head, smirking, and bring my hand up to his shoulder. Patting it, I nod my head, seeing him look at my hand uncomfortably.

"What do you say, Jonah?" I ask, seeing a smile appear a little too quickly on his face. He stares at me as I nod my head, not completely smiling back at him. "How about it's just you and me? Who needs them, anyway?"

"Really?" Jonah asks, detectible disbelief in his voice. "Shouldn't we at least give them a chance?"

I raise an eyebrow, shaking my head side-to-side now. "Why would we?"

"No, you're right," he says, seeming shameful. "Just you and me, Leilani."

_That will show Levana. That I don't need her or the Career alliance._

_I don't need any of them._

_I have my own mind. My own ambition. My own voice._

_I can do it on my own without their help or aid._

_I can do it all by myself._

* * *

><p><strong>Caden Glite<br>District Five Male, 15 Years Old  
>Training <strong>

* * *

><p><em>How interesting.<em>

The girl from District Two gawks at the girl from District Four, staring at her with such intense disgust in her eyes that I wonder what would happen if there were no rules here.

What would she do then?

Would she attack her?

I would think so. The girl from Two seems aggressive enough, already conveying the dislike she has for girl she's supposed to be in an alliance with. We're all _supposed _to do a lot here, though, aren't we?

I scoff.

We're rebels. We don't do what we're _supposed _to do.

Shifting my body, I turn back to the station I'm at. There are wires spread out across the table, all with different colors and different tips. The two from District Three – the red-head girl and the boy with the gap in his teeth – are hunched over it, attempting to create a spark in a lightbulb.

Something as simple as that.

I could go over and help him… But, no, I'd rather sit and watch. I'd rather observe.

_Blue to red, _I think, as if they can hear me. They have no idea what they're doing. The girl grabs the wire with the red tip, and for a moment, I think she might be doing something correctly. Once the boy hands her the wire with the green tip, though, I shake my head.

Not even District Three, the District where technology is their industry, can figure this simple task out.

What if they did get it to light up, though? Would they feel proud of themselves?

That wouldn't help you in the Games. Not many of these stations actually would.

Next up, I look at the boy from District One. I just find those Careers so interesting; the way they're raised, the way they're brainwashed into worshipping the Hunger Games. It never fails to amaze me. Perhaps, this year will be different. Maybe they all want be as deranged and bloodthirsty as usual.

When the One boy picks up his sword and stabs it through the head of the dummy, that thought is quelled. Of course he's like the rest. He stands there alone, intently staring at the dummy and disregarding everything around him. He's focusing on himself and on his sword.

He seems like an interesting specimen. I wouldn't mind watching him throughout his time in the Capitol. Perhaps in the Games, too. What if we come face-to-face in the arena?

What would happen then?

What if…

"Hi."

I'm interrupt mid-thought, the sound of a deep voice coming from behind me. Looking upwards, I turn around slowly, grinning at whoever has intruded on my introspection. Behind me is the pair from District Nine; the girl is small, her blonde hair in a bob-cut. The boy peers at me, though, with a grudge on his face.

I wonder what to make of that.

"She insisted we approached you," the boy says, his demeanor not as friendly as he's trying to come across. "This is Reanine. I'm Marlon."

What cute names.

"I'm Caden," I say, curtly nodding. "What brings you over here?"

"It's the first day of training," Marlon says, glancing at Reanine, who's staring back at him. "We don't want to waste any time trying to find allies."

_Allies?_

_I like the sound of that._

Feigning reflection, I tilt my head upwards, looking down at them. The girl awkwardly flicks her eyes back-and-forth between me and Marlon, but Marlon stares forward, not squirming like she is.

"Convince me."

Marlon opens his mouth, but Reanine cuts in. He didn't look like he wasn't going to be nice about it, anyway. "An alliance is better."

_Truly convincing._

'_An alliance is better,' she says. That's all I need to hear._

"We'd have a better chance of surviving if we had a large group," Marlon says, doing a much better job than Reanine. I don't even really want them to convince me; I just don't want them to get too comfortable around me.

Not yet, anyway.

"Well," I say, seeing a hopeful look appear on Reanine's face. She stares up at me, playing with her hands in front of her. "I'd be honored to ally with you two."

Reanine whispers something to Marlon, who shrugs his shoulders and makes a face in return. She smiles, walking over to the wires station. Marlon follows, glancing at me before he walks away. I still don't know what to make of him.

Reanine seems naïve. Too nice for her own good.

Marlon, though… I can see it in his eyes that he didn't want to ally with me.

That will change, though. He'll come around to his senses.

When they arrive, the two from District Three leave the station, leaving it open for their use. I go over there as well, standing in the middle of them as they play around with the wires. Reanine is distracted with the wires, while Marlon is hesitant, still watching me. Reanine perks up, seeming like she forgot to say something she had planned all along.

"You can call me Rea," she says. "I like it more."

I smile, nodding, and hold my hands out in front of her. "Sure thing, Rea. Now, why don't you give me the wires? I'll show you how it works."

Rea dumps them into my palm, and Marlon sets his wires down, watching what I'm about to. I have to nice to them, don't I? That's the only way they'll do anything I tell them to.

They have to like me first. They have to trust me.

Connecting the blue to the red wire, the light sparks up, making Reanine shake Marlon's arm. Marlon nods his head, only looking at the light for a quick second. We make eye-contact, and with just that gesture, I can see that he won't be as easy as Reanine.

He'll make things interesting.

It won't stop me, though. The two of them, they'll be easy. They'll prove no challenge to me. I've done it before, and I can do it again. More people would make this better, though, and that will be no problem. We will recruit more people. I'll make sure of it.

This is all under my manipulation, anyway.

_They _are under my manipulation. My control.

I'm the stimuli.

And they're the variables in my experiment.

* * *

><p><strong>Claire Dasilva<br>District Eight Female, 18 Years Old  
>Training<strong>

* * *

><p>On the screen, there is a video with words underneath it.<p>

The video is of a fire, with the trees around it burning down. There's smoke everywhere, with the tree branches snapping off and plummeting down into a plume of smoke. I watch it and when I look underneath the video, the question is asking me: What would you do?

There are a few scenarios, but as I try to read each one carefully, I have to stop. It's too loud in here. Glancing over my shoulder, I see tributes chatting among each other, tributes sparring with the trainers, and then I see people just walking around.

It's too noisy.

I turn back around, trying to focus just on this Arena Simulation. I've already answered eight out of ten questions, and I must answer the last two. If I were to get a perfect score, that would at least make me feel better about myself. That, maybe by some wild chance, I won't die.

That maybe I won't be _killed_.

_Because of my brother, nevertheless._

Getting fed up with all of the noise around, I skim through the answers, just picking the first one I think is correct. When a large red 'X' pops up on the screen, though, I slump in my seat, mad at myself. If I were in the arena… I couldn't get distracted like that.

I have to be alert, more focused.

I have to do better.

Resetting the Simulation, I start once again at question one. I begin to watch the video of a large lake covered with ice, and the question is asking me: What would you do?

"Well, what would you do, Claire?"

Just as I'm about to press my answer, the voice distracts me, getting me even more agitated. I turn my head to look at them, but before I open my mouth, I see who it is. It's Nathaniel.

"I would just walk away."

"That's what they would want you to do, Nate," I reply, going back and pressing the correct answer. In the video, you can see muttations chasing after you in the distance. They want you to go across the lake. "It's all about detail."

Nathaniel chuckles to himself, taking a seat next to me. "Show me more. I'll get the next one right."

"Okay," I say, pressing the arrow. The next question is set in grasslands, with high-grass and the sun high in the sky. There's a barn far in the distance, and from a hole in the wall, you can see the Cornucopia is in there. "What would _you_ do?"

"I'd go in the barn to get supplies."

"And die while trying," I add, smirking, but when I look at Nathaniel, he doesn't seem assumed. I shake my head, reaching over him and pressing the correct answer. "Sorry."

_I'm sorry. I never know what to say or do. I'm not good with people._

There's a gap of silence.

I turn to the side, pretending to look at something else that is going on. I watch the boy from District Six go over and start a conversation with the girl from Three, while her District partner just wanders around behind her. Then, there's the girl from District Ten at the axe station.

I don't see a large group for the Careers, though. All I see is the two from District Two together and then the girl from One and the boy from Four together.

"What do you think happened?" He asks, starting to play around with the screen. He gets the first few wrong, and he just smirks to himself, turning it back off.

"What?"

"With the Careers."

I shrug, trying to find the boy from One and the girl from Four. "I'm not sure. Maybe they realized how bloodthirsty and two-faced they all are and decided to not get backstabbed this year."

Once again, Nathaniel doesn't laugh.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly, turning back to the screen in front of me. "It was a joke."

"Oh."

_I'm ruining it._

_Just like I do with every other person I talk to._

"So, Claire."

"So, Nate."

"Find anyone yet?" He asks, giving me a look that shows he already knows the answer. He knows that all I did today was sit here by myself, playing with this silly Simulation. He's just trying to make a point.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't mean it like that," he says, bringing up his hands from underneath the table. "I meant like an ally."

"Oh," I utter, shaking my head. I ruined it again, didn't I? "But, no, I didn't. Did you?"

"I think so," he says, looking away from me but then flashing me a grin. "She's smart and I think I can get along really well with her."

"Who?" I ask, scanning over the tributes one last time.

"Come on, Claire," he says, laughing, but this time, it's a genuine laugh. At least he's finally found something funny that involves me. "It's you."

"Oh," I say meekly, lowering my head and looking down at my lap. "Don't I have a say in it?"

"Not really."

"Not even a minute to think about it?"

"Nope."

_Maybe I didn't ruin it._

_Maybe this time, I'll make a friend and not ruin it like I do with everyone else._

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"We can be allies."

"I like the sound of that."

_Me too, Nate._

_I like the sound of having someone that will be there for me._

_I'm not used to that. _

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Hi, everyone.

That is Training, obviously. How'd everyone enjoy it? Anyone stand out? Any favorites? You know the drill by now; just answer those and I'll like you that much more.

On a more serious note, Jakey121 and I have recently started and published a collab-SYOT. The story is on how profile (titled Epitaph, and it is the 20th Hunger Games). It'd be great if everyone could go over there and submit a tribute. Now, that I would really appreciate.

So, that's all, but please, send a tribute!


	7. Training Day Two

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

><p><strong>Levana Coltello<br>District Two Female, 16 Years Old  
>Training<strong>

* * *

><p>"Just look at her."<p>

I lean up from resting my elbows on the table, standing up straight and crossing my arms over my chest. Mathias runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back so he can actually see. He puts down the sticks and rocks he was working with, and when he doesn't know where I'm looking, I nudge him with my arm.

"At the right angle, she is kind of attractive. You have to admit that."

Mathias bends down, angling his head downwards and tilting it to the side. He watches Leilani talk to the District Four boy, Jonah. They're standing at the spear station, and when Leilani reaches to get another one, Mathias clicks his tongue.

"Do you see what I mean?"

"Stop it," I snap, shaking my head. "I will dispose of you just like I disposed of her."

"Did you really dispose of her, though? She just kind of walked away…"

"Don't test me, Mathias."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Or else you'll dispose of me too."

"You're pushing it," I say snidely. "You'll eventually get to the edge, Mathias. And I will continue to push you off of it."

Mathias laughs, shrugging his shoulders as he rubs the two sticks together. I'm not even too sure why we're wasting our time at this station; Leilani and Jonah might not be interested in this alliance, but what about the girl from yesterday? Otrera. That was her name.

"Where's Otrera?" I ask, Mathias perking up at the mention of her name. Boys will be boys, sure; that's what they always used to say. It was a sad excuse. It still is. "Let's see if she wants to stick up for herself like the rest did."

Giving Mathias a moment to stand up, I begin to walk over towards her before he's standing up straight, and he catches up by jogging to me. He fixes his hair again, wipes his hands on his pants, and then pats down the front of his training suit. In front of us, Otrera is standing at the sword station. She's leaning on the wall, eyeing the boy from District Six up and down.

When she sees us, though, she smiles and waves.

It's directed at Mathias. I can tell.

Good. She shouldn't have to like. She should be afraid, intimidated. I don't need a friend.

I'm here to win, not to make ever-lasting memories with friends. That's exactly what my aunt told me to avoid.

"Don't be so hard on her," Mathias whispers. "We don't want another Leilani-type situation like yesterday."

Otrera smiles brightly as Mathias approaches her, greeting him with a hug. She clings her fingers together behind his back, and as her head pops up over his shoulder, that smile is wiped clean once she sees me. She stares at me, the look not-so amiable as it is towards Mathias.

"Levana."

"Four."

"You know," she says, pushing her hip out to the side and tilting her head. "What is with you and that? We have names." She turns to look at Mathias, holding up a finger so that I don't speak yet. "Does she call you by your name?"

"Mathias," I say, answering her question for her. "Go train. Your sword skill-set is lacking."

Mathias shrugs, walking passed Otrera and winking. She lingers her finger on his shoulder, letting it fall down once he's completely gone. We stand there in silence, letting the sound of Mathias hacking away at the dummy fill the gap. She smiles, not yet saying a word.

"You saw what happened yesterday," I say, referring to Leilani and Jonah. "It was a tragedy. The Career alliance, already down two tributes."

"What will you ever do?" She says, and I disregard her sarcasm. "How will you _ever _survive now?"

"Speak to me with respect, Four. I'm giving you a second chance."

Otrera ignores my demand, and goes on rambling about the Careers. She rolls her eyes, flips her hair, and talks with her hands. Mathias is still behind her, swinging the sword and slashing at the dummy.

"You might have to recruit the girl from District Three, or better yet, the boy from District Twelve!"

"Hm," I say, letting her continue. Once she stops talking, I nod. "Are you done?"

"Are you?"

"With you?" I ask, seeing her roll her eyes once more. "Yes."

"What will _I _ever do now?" She asks, her mouth agape, being completely dramatic. I wave Mathias over, and just as we turn around to leave, she has the need to say one more thing. "You're bad attitude is reflecting poorly on Lyme."

I stop abruptly.

Taking a deep breath, I see the concern in Mathias' face. I look over my shoulder, trying my hardest not to fully face her. If I were to, we would have some serious trouble then. But, I'll try to be civil. I can at least try, can't I?

"Don't let me hear you say her name again," I say flatly, snarling my lip. "See what happens, Four. I dare you."

And, just like that, Otrera is knocked down from her high-horse. She sheepishly steps away, turning back around to work at the sword station. She actually picks one up, though, but doesn't do much with it. She just pokes at the dummy with it.

That will teach her.

You don't speak down about me, and especially not about my grandmother.

"Cross her off the list," I say, waving my hand at Mathias. "Should we even bother with Ceylon?"

"Might as well."

Without taking a break, we head towards Ceylon, the boy from District One. He's standing alone at the weight-lifting station, lifting up and down a smaller weight. She tosses it in the air, letting it fall back down in his hands, weighing him down. He repeats the same motion, only making more wary.

_You are a Coltello._

_You don't get intimidated._

To my surprise, though, he already knows we're coming and what to say.

"Don't start your shit with me," he says, his voice not changing in tone. He sounds like he's talking like he would any other day. "Don't call me 'One' and try to intimidate me. It won't work."

"How do you know I would start with that?"

He ignores my question. "And save your breath. I don't want to join the 'Careers.' Besides, is it even a thing anymore? It's so outdated."

"Apparently not."

"Just as it should be," he says, placing the weight down, but still having his back turned towards me. "They're stupid."

"But-"

"Is that all?" Ceylon asks, cutting me off. "I'm getting bored."

_I guess that is all, then. _

Mathias and I walk away, and now, I don't know where to go. We've tried everyone, and I would never resort to recruiting outer-District tributes. That's not what Lyme would expect of me.

She would expect more from me.

_I _expect more from myself.

* * *

><p><strong>Wren Maddox<br>District Twelve Female, 18 Years Old  
>Training<strong>

* * *

><p><em>I can't do it.<em>

Watching my first spear land barely on the edge of the target, I shake my head, unhappy with my performance. I never thought it would be this hard; every other tribute made it seem so easy. So natural to them.

Why can't I do that?

I grab another one off of the wall, and this time, I try something different. I spread my legs out more, raise my arm higher, and lower my head when aiming. I add more force to my throw, and as I watch it soar through the air, it actually hits something now.

It's a few inches away from the center, but it's an improvement.

I go to grab another spear, but the station next to me is now occupied by the girl from District One. The boy from Four is then next to her, and as I watch her through the racks of spears, it doesn't make me feel any better.

I want to be able to do that.

With such natural talent, she tosses the spear, smirking when it hits bulls-eye. She nods her head, going for another one, and doing the same exact thing. Another bulls-eye.

"I'd like to see Levana top that," she says, leaning towards the boy from Four. He chuckles. "The spear might even be taller than her."

Prying myself away from the two of them, I go back to my own station. I look at the girl from One's target, and then the boy from Four's target, and then back at mine.

I have to do better than that.

I grab another spear, seeing that there aren't that many left on my rack. I try to mimic everything the girl from One was doing, but I look down at myself, knowing that I don't look anything like her. It's worth a try, though.

With one throw, the spear goes hurdling towards the target, and I wince as it hits the target. This time, it's right near the center – even closer than before.

I turn around, smiling to myself, trying to see if anyone saw me do it. But, I look around, realizing that I have no one here. It isn't like District Twelve. I don't have my parents or Cheryl and Nadia.

I'm on my own here.

I still look around the room, though, getting distracted by other people at their stations.

After making eye-contact several times with the boy from Six as I shift my gaze throughout the room, he stands up, broadens his shoulders, and begins to stride towards me. I turn back around, knowing that he is the first person to approach me so far. The rest of the tributes just seem to stay away.

_I haven't done anything, though. _

_They have nothing to judge me for._

I hear the boy's approaching foot-steps behind me, and I turn around slowly, seeing that he's already there. He has a wide smile on his face, seemingly enthusiastic to simply meet me.

"I'm Kolter Hendricks," he says, extending his hand. "I'm from District Six."

"Wren Maddox," I reply, grabbing his hand and shaking it. He stares at me, his eyes and smile matching his friendly tone. "And I'm from District Twelve."

"I've heard a lot about District Twelve," he says. I avert my eyes for a moment, reflecting on the Rebellion.

On Katniss. On the awful conditions District Twelve is now enduring.

On my family's safe house. On why I'm even here in the first place.

"Have you now?" I ask, releasing my hand from the handshake. "I hope it's only good things."

"Of course!" He exclaims, his voice reaching a level of peppy I haven't heard before. "I would never try to offend an ally."

_Ally?_

_Are we allies? _

Laughing, I turn to the side and grab two spears. I hold one out for him, and he hesitates, grabbing it slowly. I nod my head as he takes it, and with my own spear, I aim it. Closing my left eye, I look straight-ahead, trying to imitate what I saw the other tributes do before.

I throw it, and as it lands in the target, it's nowhere near bulls-eye or the center.

"I'll have to do better than that," I berate, shaking my head. I grab another one, wanting to redo it. I have to get it.

"Are you kidding?" Kolter asks, protruding his head forward as he looks at the target. "That was amazing!"

I smile, and as I throw the next spear, this one lands a little close than my last one. Kolter claps his hands together, the spear tip almost hitting his face. He steps up now, throws the spear, and his doesn't make it. It goes behind the target, landing in the cushioned wall.

Kolter sulks, shaking his head. "That wasn't so amazing."

"I'll help you," I say, patting him on the shoulder. He looks up, a smile now on his face. "Besides, at least you know you can throw it. You just have to aim better."

"You're right," he says. "I just have to aim better."

Kolter grabs another spear, and I latch my hands onto his elbow and arm, pushing them up and down. I make sure he has the right posture and then I push the spear forward. He takes a breath, and as he throws it, I see the harm I might be doing to myself by helping him.

_It's ironic._

_I'm helping someone that could kill me with what I'm teaching him. Now, he knows how to use a spear._

Kolter grabs another spear, repeating the same posture and motion again. I let Kolter continue on with the spears, letting me have a moment to assess everything that just happened. He gets it closer and closer to the target after each spear, but I can't help but think that maybe allying with him isn't a good idea.

Would I rather go into the arena alone, though?

I have a higher chance of being killed without him as an ally.

_Stop thinking like that. It's only self-destructive._

I'll still keep my guard up, though. I'll be alert and wary. I won't let him take advantage, and if that's what his intentions are, he should rethink them now.

I won't let people push me around. I won't let people manipulate me.

I won't let people get one-step ahead of me.

I can never be _too _careful.

* * *

><p><strong>Aella Rafferty<br>District Three Female, 17 Years Old  
>Training<strong>

* * *

><p>"Marlin, don't-"<p>

Before Marlin realizes what's about to happen, he takes the knife off of the wall too quickly. He knocks into the surrounding ones, making them all come tumbling down to the ground. They land, sliding all over the place. He shakes his head, getting red in the face, embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it," I say, patting him on the shoulder, bending down to pick them up. "It was a mistake."

Marlin disregards it now, shrugging his shoulders and going back to doing whatever he was going to do with the knife. Seeing that he isn't interested in it anymore, I drop the knife, letting the trainer at the station clean it up.

Marlin's an odd one. He's not all there.

Yet, I chose him as my ally. As a person to trust that won't backstab or betray me.

I wouldn't trust him with anything, but I don't have much of a choice. Without him, I have no one.

I don't like that feeling.

"So," I say, not catching Marlin's attention. "See anyone else you like?"

"There are a lot of people," Marlin deadpans.

I can always count on Marlin to state the obvious. It never fails with him.

"Is that all you have to say?"

Marlin doesn't answer, so I take it into my own hands to scout out the rest of the tributes. My mentors didn't recommend a large alliance, but I can't survive with Marlin. That's obvious. There might be other people, though.

I usually attract a wide-variety of people.

The tributes from the Career Districts are off-limits. The girl from One is with the boy from Four, while the two from Two are together. The girl from Two has just been walking around, shoving her nose in where it isn't welcomed. The boy from Ten and the girl from Ten don't seem to friendly, either. Neither does the girl from District Six, and besides, she's too young.

But, then I see two people. The boy from District Six and the girl from District Twelve.

They're standing a few inches apart, not standing too closely to one another. There's still some apprehension there, I can tell. I saw them speaking to each other before, and at this point, I assume they're allies.

They seem like good candidates.

"I like the two of them."

"Do you like me?" Marlin says. I roll my eyes.

"Of course I do, Marlin."

The District Six boy turns around, a smile plastered on his face. It's a wide smile, showing all of us his teeth, but his ally, the girl from Twelve, has no expression on her face. The boy's mouth opens and closes quickly, talking to the girl rapidly. He gently pushes the girl in her shoulder, and she just swats his hand away.

I shrug. "Let's see what they're about."

Marlin follows behind me, his feet dragging along the floor. I smile as we approach them, hoping that Marlin is doing the same. We stand there behind the two of them, and I watch what they're doing. They're at some survival skill station, a screen on the table they're looking down at.

"Aella, is this them?"

They turn around.

"Hi!" The boy from Six says, and I press my hand on my forehead, and he looks at Marlin. "Is this who?"

"Hi," I say back, shaking my head, trying not to hold my laughter. Marlin ruins everything. "I'm Aella, and this… This is Marlin. We're from District Three."

"Hi, all," he says back, his eyes widening. "Your hair is so red," he says, poking it with his finger. He makes a noise as if he's hurt, pulling his hand back. "Ouch!"

The girl from Twelve finally decides to join the conversation. She laughs, the blank expression on her face turning into a friendly smile. "Oh, stop, Kolter," she says, holding out her hand. "I'm Wren. District Twelve."

I shake her hand, and Marlin is still wandering around behind me, so I just leave him. They get that he's with me. Kolter is still smiling, while Wren's slowly fades, and she turns back around to the table.

"Do you want to join us?" Kolter steps to the side, holding out his hand. "It's kind of confusing."

Stepping forward, I peer down at the screen, showing an image of some type of maze. It's like a game of sorts, where you have to lead the person – who's supposed to be you – around it, trying to avoid traps and muttations.

"It seems like you're doing well," I say, watching Wren press her finger on the screen. I see from the corner of my eye that Kolter smiles to himself, looking down at his feet. He mumbles something, but I chose to ignore it.

Did I say something?

"It's so much fun! Don't you agree, Wren?" Kolter says, his peppy tone making me laugh. He has the personality out of the two of them. She nods her head, focusing solely on the screen. "Why don't you try, Aella?"

Wren nods her head again, letting me have a turn. I drag my finger along the screen, leading the animated person here and there, trying to avoid muttations. Then, after a few minutes, a fire is lit on the screen. It happens in the top right-hand corner of the screen, but before I can move the animated character away, the screen goes black.

I pout. "Aw. That was fun."

"It is!" Kolter exclaims, looking behind me at Marlin. "What's he doing?"

"Just let him be," I say, shrugging. "Marlin is Marlin. You'll learn that soon."

Kolter laughs, going back to the screen. Him and Wren exchange smiles and laughs, and as I watch them, I realize that these are the two I want to ally with. They'll complement me and Marlin well.

I just hope I'm not too forceful.

Frankly, I don't care. I like being upfront about things I want.

"I have a proposition," I say, and Kolter and Wren look over their shoulders. "An alliance. Marlin and I and the two of you. What do you say?"

Kolter leans in closer to Wren, whispering something in her ear. Wren nods, smirking again, and the two of them turn to face me.

"We accept," Wren says. "The four of us sounds like a plan."

"I would've been disappointed if you declined," I say, waving Marlin over. We stand there for a few seconds, and as Marlin walks over to the screen, I can already tell this will be funny. "Please, someone help him before he embarrasses both me and him."

"That won't be a good first impression," Wren says, laughing. That's the first time she's ever really said much. "Don't worry, Marlin. I'm here to help."

Wren shows Marlin what to do, and as Kolter looks over Marlin's shoulder, I look around the Training Center quickly. I see the Career tributes scattered throughout the space, with some of the outer-District tributes here and there. Then, I see the weapons. The swords. The spears.

I see everything that could kill me. I see everyone that could, too.

I feel out of place here. This is all new to me. It's nothing like District Three, that's for sure. Those are where all my friends, memories, and attachments were. That's when I felt at home.

That's when I'm in my zone.

When drinking. When partying.

When everything was spinning.

When I let loose.

Not any of this… The weapons, the idea that everyone here might kill me. This puts a damper on my mood.

I won't let it get to me, though.

I'll still be the upbeat, peppy Aella everyone knows and loves.

I'll _always _be that girl.

* * *

><p><strong>Ceylon Lanier<br>District One Male, 17 Years Old  
>Training<strong>

* * *

><p>"Did the two from District Two confront you too?"<p>

Swinging at the dummy in front of me, I stab the spear into its stomach. Then, I yank it out, stabbing it again in the head. I then aim for the arm, the bottom legs, and the upper-chest. With one more thrust, I stab the dummy through the neck and forcefully rip the head off.

"Excuse me?"

Holding the spear in my hand, I look down at what I've just done, the dummy all torn apart. The fluffing from inside is spilled all out on the ground, with some of the fabric in large chunks here and there. It's a mess.

I like messes.

"Can you hear me?" She asks, snapping her fingers in front of my face. "Did you hear me?"

"Oh, no," I say, putting my hands on my hips as I look at the target in front of me. "I heard you."

"And?"

"I'll keep you around," I say, cutting her off. I don't need to listen to her attempt to convince me that she's the right one for me. I'll keep it short just for her. "Just tread carefully."

"But, I didn't even ask for an alliance," she says, holding up her hands and tipping her body backwards.

I smile. One of my infamous smiles, the ones where people believe I see them as endearing. That I care about what they're saying and that I'm involved in the conversation.

She smiles back. But, her smiles… They're so genuine. Too genuine.

"That's why you were here, wasn't it?"

"Maybe…"

"Exactly."

Otrera, for the first time in a few minutes, actually grabs a spear. For a second, I think she might actually do something with it, but she doesn't. She just paces around with it, looking at herself in the reflection from the tip.

"I think we'll make a good team."

So, what can she do exactly? Can she do anything?

Either way, I'm stuck with her.

Do I really want her for an ally? No.

Did I ever consider having an ally? Not necessarily.

But, she'll keep me company. She'll babble and I'll pretend to listen. She'll keep things… _entertaining._

Apparently, she doesn't value silence as much as I do, though.

"Have you ever watched some past Games?"

"No."

"You should. They're really fun to watch," she says, and just with that one word, I see that I might like her. She thinks watching the Games are _fun. _"My favorite might be the girl from District Six's Games. The arena was really cool and I just loved her attitude."

I focus on the target in front of me, raising the spear in the air. With a quick toss, it lands just an inch away from the center. I grab another one, focusing one more time, not getting distracted from Otrera's incessant rambling.

"Or what about the twins from District Two? Arick and Ryker?" She asks, and at this point, I've learned that she isn't expecting an answer. She's just talking to hear her own voice. "Was it Arick who won the 96th Games or was it Ryker? I really don't know."

I launch another spear hurdling towards the target, and from the corner of my eye, I can see Otrera leaning against the wall now. She has a spear in her hand and she rolls it between her hands, still talking.

"They were cute, don't you think?" She says, pausing for a moment of reflection. She can answer that for herself. "But, that's not the point. The point is that he didn't have a Career alliance. Well, he did but… I'm pretty sure the District One girl messed it up."

Otrera holds her spear out to me, and I grab it, raising it in the air to throw it again. She takes a deep breath, glancing quickly at Leilani and Jonah, and then continues.

"He killed her, but he wasn't done there. He then went on to kill his own District partner and his other ally; the girl from Four, yeah."

I softly chuckle to myself, and as I throw my last spear, I watch it land in the center of the target. All of the spears are remotely close to one another, with the shafts all skimming one another. Otrera claps her hands, and I finally turn to my side, looking at her.

She's an interesting one. I'm not exactly sure if she's competent or not, but that doesn't really matter. I'm not allying with her for protection or for mutual security. I'm allying with her to do exactly that – ally with her. She's sufficient for that.

She isn't that bad, anyway. She just talks a lot.

It's nothing I can't tune out, though.

"So, what I mean is that if they didn't need the Career alliance, neither do we," I say, and she takes one more deep breath. I wait for her to continue to talk, but apparently, she's done now. All of that wasted breath to tell me that we can do it without the Careers.

_I _was always capable of doing it on my own.

"Do you have any stories for me?" She says, following me as I walk away from the spear station. I go back to the weight-lifting one, where no one is. No one's really come over this far. "I feel like I'm talking a lot."

"You are," I say, picking up one of the lighter ones. "It's rather distracting."

Otrera giggles. "You're funny, Ceylon."

"I'm a lot of things, Otrera."

"Oh?" She says, smirking as she leans in towards me. "Is that a challenge?"

"No," I say flatly. "I'm just telling you I'm not funny."

Otrera babbles on and on once more, and as I move to the side to pick up a heavier weight, I look down at for a moment. Her voice is in my ear, but I'm not paying much attention to what she's saying to me. It's all useless information, anyway. As I pick up the weight, I hold it in the air, and Otrera looks up at it, raising her eyebrow.

And, as I hold it up in the air, I can't help myself but throw it.

In a quick burst, I throw the weight as far as I can, watching it knock into a rack of spears against the wall. They come falling down, the sound of metal clashing tuning out Otrera's voice. Otrera goes quiet as everyone turns their head to look at me.

This is why I'm here.

To make a mess. To create chaos.

To get everyone's attention.

I'm in it for the _thrill_.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I'm back! And, this time, I brought Training Day Two with me.

Before anyone says anything, I know I'm focusing on only a few tributes in each chapter. I'm not doing that intentionally, but it works in my head and whatnot. I have a system, people. Trust me on this one.

So, there you have it. Some more alliances – that's always exciting to read about.

What do you think of the alliances so far? Do you predict any other ones?

General comments are always welcome as well. Soon, I will have a poll up, but first, we must meet all of the tributes.

Next up: Training Day Three. See you then!


	8. Training Day Three

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

><p><strong>Cailen Arkley<br>District Eleven Female, 18 Years Old  
>Training<strong>

* * *

><p>"Why don't you ever want to talk to me?"<p>

"It's not that I don't want to talk to you," Alumax says, shrugging his shoulders and placing down the knife he has in his hand. He sets it down on the table, showing me that he's preparing to leave. "Don't take it personally."

"I do," I say, catching his attention. "And I don't like it."

"That's not my problem," Alumax replies, giving me a small nod as a form of a good-bye. He walks away, taking any potential conversation with him, leaving me alone once again. Before he's too far away, he continues, saying, "Find someone else."

He's too far for me to yell him.

He doesn't know what he's talking about. I can find someone else.

There are twenty-two more of us, right?

Biting my lip, I turn back around, sulking. The closest station to me is the plant-identification table, and when I see that no one's there, I decide that's my best option. If Alumax doesn't want to talk to me, who actually will?

Does he find me annoying?

Am I really that annoying?

I don't know.

"Hmph," I say, pulling out a seat from underneath the table. "Whatever."

Grabbing a book from the selection, I open it, tracing my finger along the sentences. I attempt to read it, but it doesn't make much sense to me. I look for a picture, and when I find one, I learn more from that than reading any of these words.

What do they say, anyway? I can only understand a few.

Tapping my foot on the ground, I try to distract myself from thinking of Alumax, but I can't help it. He hurt my feelings… But, I don't dislike him. Why would I?

I have no reason to dislike him.

I lean my head on the table, still tracing my fingers along the sentences and tracing my fingers around the diagrams of plants and flowers. They're all different colors and shapes, and honestly, I don't try to figure out what any of it means.

They're just plants. How hard could it be?

"Is everything okay?"

"What?" I say, lifting up my head and seeing the boy from District Eight standing in front of me. He runs his hand through his hair, taking a seat across from me. "What's your name?"

"Nathaniel," he replies, smiling at me. I smile back. "Or Nate. Or Nat. I get a lot of nicknames."

"I'll go with Nate. I like that."

"Sounds good," he says, winking. "What are you reading?"

"Trying to," I correct. "I like the pictures."

"They're colorful," I say, giggling, showing him a picture of a flower. "Do you see the colors on this one?"

"It looks like my escort."

I laugh rather loudly, making Nate smile. "You're funny!"

Before Nate can reply, his District partner and another girl come over. The girl from Eight pushes her hair out of her face, lowering her hands and beginning to play with them after. The other girl stands there in front and I smile at the two of them.

"What's going on over here?" The other girl asks, taking a seat. The girl from Eight follows. "I could hear you two laughing from all the way over there. I'm Gerri, by the way."

"I'm Cailen from District Eleven."

"I'm Claire," the girl from Eight says, her voice a murmur. "It's nice to meet you."

"Do you three already know each other?" I ask, noticing that they didn't greet Nate. "Are you allies?"

"Yes, we are," Nate says, playfully pushing Claire in the shoulder. She looks up, her face expressionless, not saying a word. "And, lucky for you, we have a spot open."

_Are they trying to use me?_

_Are they playing me right now?_

"That's so nice of you," I say, knowing that I already like Nate. With people, I tend to find the bad before the good, and with him, I don't see anything negative. He's nice and funny. "Why me, though?"

"You were sitting here alone," Gerri says. "No one should go into the Games alone."

_I never wanted to be alone here. _

_I just couldn't find the right person. _

In any relationship, I never know my place with people. The way I treat people and see them is always different from how they treat me and see me.

Whether people actually like me or are just using me for some ulterior purpose is always a mystery to me.

I get that Alumax might not like me, but at least he didn't plan on using me. I'd prefer him not talking to me at all than him trying to use me.

"You're right," I say, nodding. "I don't want to be alone in the Games."

"So, is that a yes?" Nate asks, a smile growing on his face. Gerri smiles too, and for the first time, Claire looks up at me directly.

"Yes," I say, my voice squeaking. "Yes!"

"That's more like it!"

Gerri and Nate go back to talking and passing books to one another, while Claire still sits there and plays with her hands under the table. I take a book for myself, but I look at them, never imagining myself allying with them in the first place. I know I would have never allied with Alumax, so in a way, I prefer it here with them.

Now, I just can't let them down.

I'm not the smartest. Or the strongest. Or the fastest.

I'm not much of anything.

I know I need the help of others. That I might _not _be able to do all of this on my own.

But, I'm brave.

I'm not afraid of taking risks. Of taking chances.

And maybe – just maybe – that will make my allies like me. That, even though I'm here and I'm in their alliance, they'll actually appreciate me and won't take me for granted. I was always the girl that was too emotional, that always rambled on and on and was too excited about it all.

I don't want Nathaniel, Claire, and Gerri to perceive me as that. I never perceived myself like that, anyway. I'm more than aware of who I am and what my flaws are. I accept all of that. But, for my allies, I'll be the girl that can contribute something.

I'll be someone that they can depend on. That they can put some reliance on.

I'll be someone to them.

I'll be someone who's _valuable _to them.

* * *

><p><strong>Tasha Levelle<br>District Ten Female, 17 Years Old  
>Training<strong>

* * *

><p>The boy from Seven stands there, flexing to himself in the mirror.<p>

I grit my teeth, his own vanity making me hate him already. He steps to the side, looking at himself from one angle, and then he goes for an axe. He takes his time, going through each axe to make sure he finds the right. Then, when he does, he picks it up, weighing it in his hands.

He nods his head when he's content with the one he's chosen.

I remember him from the Reapings. Audrey is his name.

He's the one who ran away from the stage, the one who then attacked the Peacekeeper. That took courage, and frankly, brute strength. He reacted solely out of anger, while me? It was out of fear.

Fear of what's to come for me.

Fear of what I might not be able to control for once in my life.

With one swing of his axe, he tears the dummy's head off, sending it flying upwards. It falls down, and Audrey goes back at it, hacking away at the rest of its body. I take a step closer, and with one more swing, he slices the dummy in half.

Now I see why people avoid him.

He's considered the wild-card. The one who can't be controlled and is unpredictable. The threat that will be a challenge to the rest of us.

Lucky for him, I've always liked challenges.

It gives me something to conquer.

At first, I didn't consider an alliance. I thought I'd be better off on my own, without anyone weighing me down or holding me back, but after seeing everyone have an alliance, I see the benefit of it. Besides, I've always like the feeling of people relying of me.

It makes me feel strong. Like people actually need me in their lives.

I take one step closer, watching Audrey drop the axe down on the ground. He presses his foot on top of it, stretching his arms backwards and then cracking his back.

He's a fit ally for me.

I _can _do it on my own, but an ally wouldn't hurt.

Audrey bends down to the pick up the axe, letting the trainer give him another dummy. This one is taller and with more stuffing in it, the broad shoulders and added padding supposed to show more muscle. Before he can swing his axe at the dummy, I step in, nearly getting hit by the axe.

"Tasha," I say, wanting to avoid all the awkward greetings. I get the sense that he doesn't care for that, and frankly, neither do I. I want to make this short. "District Ten."

"You're the first person to come up to me," he says while chuckling, the angry boy from the Reapings not coming through here. He seems more restrained, more relaxed. "I'm Audrey, though. From Seven."

He rests the axe at his side, and as I don't say anything else, I find myself staring at him. I catch myself, shaking my head, and going back to the conversation. "That's rather impressive."

He shrugs. "You learn a thing or two from growing up in Seven."

"It shows," I say, eyeing his axe. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Don't worry about it," he says, stepping to the side, holding out his axe. "Might as well make your time here worth it. Show me what you can do."

Grabbing the axe out of his hands a little too forcefully, I grip it comfortably, assessing the dummy in front of me. With a grunt, I deliver one blow, but it only slits the chest a tad. Nothing from the inside comes out, making Audrey chuckle. He has a patronizing look on his face, that I'm not as good as him.

I'll show him.

I'll show him just how good I am.

"Watch this," I say, grunting with another forceful strike at the dummy. I manage to tear its arm off, and I spin around, implanting the axe in the neck of the dummy. I thrust it upwards, splitting the neck, the head falling off of it. "How's that?"

"Just add blood and some screams to that and you'll be fine," Audrey says, and I slow down my swings at the dummy, not making them as forceful. "This is the Hunger Games, after all. We won't be fighting dummies."

"That's a good point," I say, giving him a side-glance. "A trainer won't be able to replace one of us in the arena."

"When you're dead, that's it," Audrey continues, looking down at the head on the ground. "Let's hope it's not one of us, huh?"

I wrinkle my nose, shaking my head. "Won't happen."

"What makes you so sure?" Audrey asks, raising an eyebrow. "Are you untouchable? Invincible?"

"Don't underestimate me," I snap, dropping the axe to the ground. "How do you know I won't kill you in the arena?"

"How do you know I wouldn't kill _you_?"

"You wouldn't," I say, grinning. I like a person who can return what's dished out to them. I like someone with attitude. "I would recommend not messing with me."

"We'll see how it goes in there, then. Keep your ears and eyes on alert."

"The same to you."

I nod my head, feigning a good-bye. I begin to walk away, not looking over my shoulder or stopping, and just as I predicted, he calls out after me. I don't want him to think that I only came here to ally with him, that I only see him as a stronger opponent that could protect me.

He's not here for me.

I'm here for him.

"Where are you going?" He calls, and I still don't stop walking. "You know you were here to ally with me."

But, with that comment, I do stop. "I was not talking to you to only ally."

"What else, then?"

"To knock you off your high-horse."

"It didn't work."

"It will," I say, turning back around. I make my way back to him, standing a few inches in front of him. "Just give it some time."

"I'll hold you to that," he says, grinning again. "Don't let me down."

"You can count on me."

He holds out his hand, expecting me to shake it. I stare at his hand, refusing to put out my hand, and he chuckles.

"I don't have germs."

"I can't trust you yet," I say dryly. "But, we can ally."

"That's all we'll be. Besides, I have a girlfriend back in Seven, so don't try to pull anything."

He shouldn't try to pull anything, either.

I'm not one to mess around with. To play a joke on or to betray. I'm not someone he can walk all over and control.

I'm in control here – of myself, of the others around me. That's how I like it.

Where I'm on top. Where I'm in the lead.

Where I appear strong and confident.

_Because I'm not weak. I'm anything but weak._

_And that's what will help me win._

* * *

><p><strong>Reanine Darsh<br>District Nine Female, 15 Years Old  
>Training<strong>

* * *

><p>"I think one more wouldn't hurt anybody."<p>

"If there are more than three of us, we'll be caught sooner," Marlon says, not budging. I spoke to the boy from District Twelve, Amias, yesterday, and he was rather nice. "Three is enough."

"But, Marlon!" I say, stamping my foot, looking at Caden to help me convince Marlon to let one more person into our alliance. "Please?"

Marlon shakes his head, tapping his fingers on the metal table. "Four is too many."

"She has a point, Marlon," Caden adds, looking at me and nodding. "More people means more security."

"We provide enough security, don't you think, Caden?" Marlon says, directing the question at Caden. Caden narrows his eyes, and before he can respond, Marlon continues. "I thought so."

Standing up from the table, I face the two of them, standing my ground. I want another ally, so I will go get him myself. I don't need Marlon's permission, nor do I need Caden's. Caden gets up to follow me, while Marlon still sits at the table, and as I look at him, I feel a little bad.

I don't want to be mean to him, but I don't see the big deal.

Reluctantly, Marlon gets up from the table as well, and when I see him walking over, I smile. I reach out my hand for him to grab, and we interlock fingers, prancing away towards Amias. He's sitting at a table where there are a bunch of books and leaves and plants. Across from him is the boy from District Ten, whose name I really don't know.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to Marlon. "I just want another ally."

"Let's go get him, then," Marlon says, smirking.

We approach the table, and Caden and Marlon take seats. Standing next to Amias, I expect the boy from Ten to leave, but he still sits at the table, reading away. I wave at Amias, smiling at him.

"Amias!" I exclaim, poking him in the arm. "You remember me, right?"

"Of course, Rea," he says, looking at Caden and Marlon now. "What are your names?"

"Marlon."

"Caden."

"It's nice to meet both of you," Amias says, and when he looks at the boy from Ten, he perks up. "Oh, I forgot! This is Lonan. He's from District Ten."

Lonan looks up from his book, raising an eyebrow. He doesn't smile or smirk, he just stares at me. Only me, not Marlon or Caden. He nods, and then goes back to reading his book. He traces the lines with his fingers, looking completely invested in it.

"What are you reading?"

"Something about trees," Lonan says, dropping the book on the table and closing it. "Pointless stuff."

I take a seat right next to Lonan, sliding the book away from him. I flip through the pages, not retaining much information from it. Making a face, I push it away, looking back up at everyone. They're all staring at me, and for a moment, I remember how shy I used to be back home.

I would never talk to anyone. Never want to be the center of attention.

But, here, I want to make allies. I want to make friends.

"So, Amias and Lonan," I say, folding my hands over one another on the table-top. "Are you guys allies?"

Lonan just shrugs, but Amias actually provides answer. "We just met today at this station."

"Do you want to be?" I ask, looking at Lonan now. "With us, I mean. All five of us."

"I would like to," Amias says, picking up his book and putting it away. "What about you, Lonan?"

"I guess so."

"Then, it's settled!" I say, standing up from the table and spreading my arms open widely. "We're an alliance!"

"That's all good and dandy," Marlon says, and as I sit back down, I wonder what's going to come next. He always starts out nice just before he says something mean. "But, we barely know anything about each other."

"You know what?" I exclaim, pointing at Marlon. "That's a really good idea. Let's go around the circle and tell everyone something about ourselves."

"I'll start," Marlon says, seeming not as enthused as I want him to be. "I'm from District Nine, as I'm sure you all know. It wasn't the best, nor was it the worst. It was what it is."

"That's it?" Lonan asks, and Marlon shoots him a not-so-nice look. "Come on. Tell us why you're here."

"Why I'm here?"

"We're all here for a reason."

"What does it matter to you?" Marlon snaps and I don't like his tone. I look at him, and he leans back in his chair, slumping down. "It was my brother. He messed around with the Peacekeepers."

"What do you mean, 'messed around'?" Caden asks, resting his head on his hands as he leans on his elbows.

"He killed him," Marlon says, his voice not matching up with his facial expression. His face looks agitated, while his voice is still flat. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"That's more like it," Lonan says, smirking, and as Amias takes his turn, my eyes widen.

His brother… His brother _killed _a Peacekeeper?

Why would he do that?

Shaking my head in disbelief, I frantically look around, keeping my mouth. I stare at the books, not wanting to make eye-contact with any of them. His brother killed a Peacekeeper… How can I associate with someone like that?

I would never do that.

My family might have, but me? I'm not a rebel. I was never a rebel.

If anything, I blame them for why I'm here. I blame the rebels and the Rebellion. I blame my family, too. They're the reason why I'm here – they all are.

I never did anything wrong.

I don't even understand why everyone wants to rebel against the Capitol. They're the reason my family was rich; why isn't my father grateful for this wealth that comes from them? Why aren't they all grateful for the protection the Capitol provides?

"Rea, it's your turn."

"Oh, sorry," I say, forcing a smile onto my face. What am I supposed to say? That I support the Capitol? That I hate the rebels?

I can't tell them that.

_I can't tell them anything._

_They might be my allies, but they're still rebels._

_And I'm not._

_I'm not like them._

* * *

><p><strong>Anaise Tuist<br>District Five Female, 17 Years Old  
>Training<strong>

* * *

><p>I pick my fingernails, flicking the nail onto the table of wires.<p>

Aiming for the circuit board, I flick it at the right angle, watching it fall into one of the crevices in it. I see a yellow wire attached to it, and I yank it out, wrapping it around my fingers. With the end of the wire, I file my nails now, letting the shavings fall onto the table too.

"Can you stop?" The girl from Six says sharply, not looking at me. I ignore her, going back to picking at my nails, tearing each layer off.

I flick it towards her this time.

"Do you mind?" The girl from District Six snaps, only slightly turning her head towards me. She still stares forward, the wires in her hand, and I grunt.

"Do _you_ mind?" I retort, biting the air. I do it again, scaring the little girl away. She makes a face, walks away quickly, and goes to another station. "Looks like she did mind."

I continue picking my nails.

Pushing the wires to the side, I begin to build up a little pile of my nails, wanting to do something with them after it's big enough. I sit there, dropping the nails one after one, but when I hear someone's footsteps, I stop myself.

In the corner of my eye, I see someone else coming, but I don't look at him. I like the mystery of anyone who would have the audacity to approach me.

It turns out that the District Eleven boy who will be my next victim.

He saunters over, trying to ignore that I'm already at the station. He stands at the end of the table, choosing to ignore my nail-biting and picking, unlike the girl from Six. I already like him more than the rest.

"Hi," I say, grinning. I wait for him to look up, but unfortunately, he doesn't. He still stares down at the wires.

"Hi."

I choose not to respond. I watch him carefully, watching his every move as he attempts to build something with the wires. I stare at his hands, noticing his own nails, the hair on his knuckles, the dryness of his skin.

He catches me staring.

"Who are you, again?"

"Who am I?"

"Yes, who are you?" He asks, leaning forward a little.

"Who are _you_?"

"Alumax?" He says, simply answering my question. Alumax – that's his name. He was just answering my question.

"Thank you for answering my question," I say, leaning forward too. "Can I ask another one?"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't."

I ask another one anyway. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

I shake my head. "No, you aren't."

"How do you know?"

"You're seventeen."

"_Why_ do you know that?"

"I know everything," I say, bobbing my head up and down. "Want to know something else?"

"I'd rather not."

I tell him anyway. "You had a brother that died in the Games."

He seems to get defensive at the mention of it. "Why do you know that?"

"I just told you, silly."

Alumax shakes his head, gripping the wires in his hand tightly. His jaw shifts, the hair on his cheeks basically standing up, the anger so visibly rushing through his. I didn't mean to upset him; really, I just wanted to share this information with him. I know a lot. I want to show him that I know a lot.

There's no harm in that.

"Alumax?"

He doesn't respond. He still stands there, the disbelief smacked on his face, shaking his head and gripping into the wires even tighter. He stares down at the table, his hands beginning to shake as well. He doesn't unleash any of that anger, though. He keeps it bottled up.

I couldn't do that.

I want people to see how I'm feeling. To feel how I'm feeling.

"You can control your emotions well," I comment, noticing that in him. "What else can you do?"

"I can walk away," he deadpans, but I know he won't. If he wanted to walk away, he would've already done that. "What else can _you _do?"

"I can follow you."

"Don't."

"I will."

"You aren't going to leave me, are you?"

"No," I say, a smile creeping across my face. "I don't plan on it."

"What will it take for you to leave me alone? At least a little."

"Ally with me," I say, my eyes widening as a grin forms on my face. "Let's be allies, Alumax. We can be allies!"

"And what if I decline?"

A sullen expression replaces the enthusiastic one. "I'd have to kill you, then."

"You'd kill me?" He asks, not too much emotion in his voice still.

"I would have to, Alumax."

"Alright."

"We're going to be the best allies," I say, standing up. I begin to walk over him, watching him squirm as I get closer. "I'm excited. So, so very excited."

"So am I," he says, his voice quiet now.

We are allies.

He is my ally.

And he won't leave me. He can't leave me.

_He's mine. _

_And he isn't going anywhere._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Training is officially over!

We have not met all of the tributes yet, so there's always that to look forward to. Next chapter will be Private Sessions with the Gamemakers.

A poll will be coming soon, so start to figure out who are your favorites!

I apologize for the weekly updates, but midterms week is coming up and then I'm having surgery so I'll have a week or two to write as I sit home and do absolutely nothing. They will speed up – I promise.

So, until then!


	9. Gamemaker Sessions

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

><p><strong>Mathias Mordurie<br>District Two Male, 18 Years Old  
>Gamemaker Sessions<strong>

* * *

><p>"Leilani Theriott."<p>

The girl from One stands up, shooting a glance past her District partner and right towards the male from Four. Jonah nods his head, mouthing the words 'good luck' to her. She stands up straight, composing herself before walking through the sliding doors.

When they close behind her, Levana groans. She leans her head back on the wall, her small frame barely coming up to my shoulder. I lean towards her, looking down at her.

"Loosen up," I say, nudging her with my shoulder. She scoots over, distancing herself from me. "She's just a girl."

"Don't start with me," she warns, making me smirk. "And wipe that goofy smirk off your face."

"Have some fun, Lev," I say, leaning back away from her. "You'll get to kill her eventually."

"Don't call me Lev, Mathias, or I'll kill you too."

"You're kind of cute when you're angry, you know that?" I say, giving her a wink before I go back to sitting there in silence. She shifts in her seat, mumbling about something else now. Leilani comes back out, walking right past her District partner and when she sees Levana from the corner of her eye, she tilts her head forwards, smirking.

I can tell that Levana is ready to pounce.

She really is uptight.

She gets too worked up over this girl.

"Ceylon Lanier."

Ceylon stands up, seemingly dragging his body through the doors. He doesn't look back, he doesn't fix his posture did, and honestly, he doesn't really do much. The doors close behind him, but Levana doesn't have the same reaction for him.

Ceylon didn't really give her much of a fight.

I wish he did, though. I like drama.

I like drama especially when people I don't know are involved.

"Take a deep breath," I say, watching her grip the edge of the bench. "Don't get too flustered. The Gamemakers will notice that."

"I don't need advice from you," Levana snaps and I shrug my shoulders. Let that affect her training score, then.

It's not my problem if she doesn't receive the twelve she so desperately wants.

Ceylon comes back out, a smile on his expressionless face. The girl from District Four, Otrera, attempts to get his attention, but he doesn't stop for her. He just keeps walking out of the long hallway.

I wish I could just leave already.

This is all boring to me.

"Levana Coltello."

"Good luck, babe," I say as Levana gets up. She balls her hands into fists, broadening her shoulders as she walks through the doors. I continue, though, simply to entertain myself, saying, "Break a leg. Or two. Maybe even an arm."

"Who are you talking to?" The boy from District Three leans forward and asks. "

"Ghosts of the dead tributes that once sat here," I say, widening my eyes, trying to scare him. "Spooky, isn't it?"

The boy from District Three doesn't say anything else.

I tap my feet on the ground, making a beat of some sort. I do, though, wonder how Levana's doing in there. She might be a little ball of anger – both literally and figuratively. I mean, she's only about five feet, but she still can pack a punch.

That's what she says, anyway. I believe it, too.

Out of all the Careers here, I'm glad I'm with her. We might be complete opposites, but for some reason, it works. Leilani and Jonah work, too, as does Ceylon and Otrera. I would never admit that to her, though. She's already fed up that it's just the two of us.

But, deep down, I know she's happy she can spend alone time with me. She just doesn't want to show it.

She probably wants me.

She wouldn't be the only one.

The doors slide back open, and Levana appears, her face looking angrier than usual. She grits her teeth, taking a seat next to me, but I know it's in my best interest to not say anything.

But, that hasn't stopped me before, so why let it now?

"Mathias Mordurie."

Before I can say anything, my name is called, and I wave at Levana. She rolls her eyes, and as I walk away, I raise my hand in the air, still waving. The doors close behind me, and I walk forward down the hallway of lights and dark floors.

I turn the corner, entering the Training Center. It's different than the one we trained in before, this one being smaller and more compact. In one corner, I see the knives section, so that's where I decide I will go. I might as well stick with something I'm used to have and trained with.

"Mathias Mordurie," I say, introducing myself, but they already know who I am. Everyone does. "One thing, though. I think you should be fair with my score. I know that if it was based on looks, I'd be an automatic twelve. How about, for the other tribute's sake, we just judge me based on how strong I am?"

The Gamemakers don't look amused.

I am, though.

I don't need them.

Walking over to where the knives are, I try to find a large one, something that resembles what I used to work with in the bakery back in Two. I eventually find one, with a large blade and a wooden handle.

I used to cut bread with knives like these. Those were the days.

"Are there any snacks?" I call out, pulling over a dummy for me to work with. "I'm rather famished."

I press the blade against the dummy's neck. I leave it there, seeing my hair in the reflection of the blade. Shaking my hair, I watch it fall back into place. Now that I look good, I bring back the knife, and then swiftly stab the dummy in the neck.

Pushing the dummy back, I rip out of the knife, going for the stomach next. When I rip it out this time, though, I bend down, running to the back of the dummy. I stab the blade through its back, watching it come out through the other side. I leave the knife in there, going for another one before my time runs out.

When I have another knife in my hand, I notice that the timer above the Gamemakers is nearly at zero seconds. Before it's too late, I launch the knife towards the dummy. It lands in the head, the momentum of the throw making the dummy fall forwards.

I grin.

I even impress myself sometimes.

I owe all of that to working in the bakery. I worked with knives and such there. And, who knows, those skills could come in handy in the arena.

I might have to cut bread in the arena.

Except the bread will be made from flesh and blood.

Nodding my head, turning around and walking back down the hallway. I count my footsteps, just wanting to get out of here already. I never really did care for the Private Sessions, but after being in there, my opinion changed.

I want a high score. I deserve a high score.

_Was that enough, though?_

Of course it was.

If it wasn't, then I have made a dire mistake. One that will get me killed.

_Like joining the Rebellion back in Two. By joining the mission to assassinate one of the victors._

_That was another mistake I have made._

I didn't think that out of all of the rebels in my District, it would be me who would get Reaped.

But, I can't do anything about it now.

I'll try to keep myself alive. Try to fight. Try to win.

_Try – it's all I can do._

* * *

><p><strong>Kolter Hendricks<br>District Six Male, 18 Years Old  
>Gamemaker Sessions<strong>

* * *

><p>"Otrera Hale."<p>

As the girl from District Four walks through the doors, Aella and Marlin walk by, both waving at me. I wave back, smiling brightly at them, and as they continue to walk, I look after them. I try to sit still, resisting the urge to run after them and to follow them to wherever they're going.

I like being with them.

I like talking to them and laughing with them, too.

I like doing everything here with them.

Glancing at Wren, she gives me a small wave, and once again, I wave and smile. She goes back to sitting on top of her hands, sitting completely still except for her eyes that are looking around the hallway constantly. I shrug, sitting back on the bench, and lean my head on the wall.

I sit there, trying to keep myself preoccupied with my thoughts, but I can't do it.

I don't like sitting here alone. Not being able to talk to anyone... It reminds me too much of home.

Besides me, Drew is sitting there, with the same grudge that she always seems to have on her face. I poke her in the shoulder, and she slides further away from me, her arms crossed over her chest. She sits there, pouting, not even giving me a side-look.

I don't like that she's always in a bad mood.

It only makes me feel bad.

"Cheer up," I say, whispering. I smile, but she still doesn't look at me. "Don't look so down.

"Leave me alone," Drew snaps.

Biting on my lower-lip, I look away, still discontent with the relationship me and Drew have. Marlin and Aella are friendly; why can't Drew and I be? Did I say something wrong? Did I do something wrong?

I'm used to being blamed for things.

But, this time, I'm positive I haven't done anything. I've only tried to be nice to her.

Yet, that still isn't good enough for Drew.

Without even realizing it, the girl from District Four has come and is now gone. The boy from Four went too, as did the girl from District Five. The boy from Five walks through the doors, and I look back at Drew, wanting her to at least look happy for once. I don't like seeing her like this.

I don't like seeing anyone like this.

"A smile is free," I say, leaning towards her again. She still gives me the cold-shoulder. "It doesn't cost a thing. Isn't that nice?"

"It's my turn," Drew says, ignoring me and standing up just as the boy from Five walks back out. She walks away, and before she can slip through the doors, I call after her.

"Good luck!"

The doors close behind her, and when I turn back around, I see Wren staring at me. She raises her eyebrow, and I wave, only getting a nod from her. I begin to tap my finger on the bench, waiting for to Drew to come back out.

She might not be the nicest person, but she deserves a good score.

We all deserve a good score.

After a few moments, Drew eventually comes back, her short hair remaining stiff as she walks. She walks right past me, staring directly ahead. I raise my hand, but after a second-thought, I keep my mouth shut.

I'll leave her alone for now.

"Kolter Hendricks."

Without letting a second pass, I'm already through the doors and enter the hallway. It's long, dark, and it cuts off at the end. I make my way down it, looking ahead, trying to keep myself focused. When I make it to the end, I walk into the Training Center, a smile immediately forming on my face.

"Wow," I say out loud, taking a few steps forward. I stop in front of the Gamemakers, snapping out of my daze from being fascinated by my surroundings. "Oh, oh! I'm Kolter. Kolter Hendricks."

They wave my hand and I then look to see where I should go.

I'm not good with swords. Or knives or bows and arrows. I'm not really good with anything.

In one corner, though, I found a wrestling mat. There are a few dummies placed on top of it, and I walk over there, figuring I should stick with something I know. I'm good with my hands and I have some body strength.

Placing my hand on one of the dummies, I feel the fabric, and when I take my hand away, I look at the Gamemakers one last time. I nod my head, sending my first punch at the dummy. It's pushed backwards a little, and I take a step forward, punching it again. I do this a few more times, and with one quick jump to the side, I throw my body into the side of it.

It falls over, and I catch myself before I fall too.

For my last punch, I try to exert as much strength as I can. The impact tears the fabric on the dummy's face, and I smile again, waving good-bye to the Gamemakers. I scurry away from the dummy, turning back down the hallway. This time, though, I feel different. I want to get out of here now.

I want to get out of this hallway.

I begin to pick up the pace, trying to reach the doors more quickly. I hope that through the doors at the other end, Aella and Marlin will be waiting for me. Then we'll for Wren, too.

_They'll be waiting for me, _I remind myself. _They wouldn't leave me alone._

They're my friends. They'll be there waiting for me. I know it.

All this time, I just want them to be there for me. I want them to have my back and never leave my side. Not like everyone else did in District Six. My home was never a good place for me – between my father, the prison, the lack of communication and social life I had.

I couldn't deal with that anymore.

All I've ever wanted was another human. To see another human face full of emotion… Not like the guards back in the prison. It was the same mundane life over and over – seeing the same guard slip me a tasteless meal. Not even once did he smile or smirk.

I was getting sick of it.

So, I volunteered. I volunteered to liberate myself.

I volunteered to see new people.

_And it's worked so far._

* * *

><p><strong>Audrey Kaman<br>District Seven Male, 18 Years Old  
>Gamemaker Sessions<strong>

* * *

><p>"Gerri Faulkes."<p>

Gerri stands up, lowering her head and sending me an amiable smile before she departs through the doors. They close behind her, and I tap my foot, waiting for her to come back. Once she's done, it's my turn.

It'll be my time to show the Gamemakers who I am and what I can do.

I only have a few minutes, so I can't waste any time.

Looking down the row of kids, I lean forward, trying to find Tasha. She's all the way down there, sitting there with her arms crossed over her chest. She stares forward, not looking back at me.

An alliance with her crossed my mind.

But, she made her first impression and I liked it. Gerri's first impression was back on the train rides. I admit that at that moment, it wasn't the best time to speak to me. I was angry. I was foolish.

I gave a bad first impression to her. To my mentors and escort, too. That was my fault.

It's all about first impressions with me; the first few words you speak are what I will always remember. She kept it short, bluntly asking if I wanted an alliance.

She's lucky I had no on else.

She's a good choice, anyway. She's strong.

And I'm stronger.

We make a good team.

A team built on strength. On trust. On mutual-reliance.

I would never betray her, either. Or anyone, for that matter. We are allies and allies will be what we are until the end; or until one of us has to kill the other or until one of us dies. Deception or manipulation would never cross my mind with, not even in a place like this.

I'm not that type of guy.

The one that will betray an ally. That will lie to them. That will backstab them.

I was taught to be better than that.

Gerri comes back out, her hair messier than it was before she went in. She smiles again, giving me a small wave before she meets her other allies.

"Audrey Kaman."

Taking a deep breath, I stand up, focusing on just this. On showing them my strength and what I'm capable. Showing them that I'm worth a high score.

That I'm not worth a three, or four, or five.

Getting a high score will pay off in the end, so I need that high score.

Walking through the doors, I continue forward, my footsteps echoing throughout the metal hallway. When I turn the corner, I enter another Training Center, immediately looking for a weapon I trained with. I make eye-contact with the Gamemakers, nod my head, and proceed forwards.

"Audrey Kaman of District Seven."

In one corner I see axes, exactly like the ones I was working with before Tasha approached me. I walk over, grabbing the first one I see. The weight is nearly the same as the other one, so this one will work. It _has_ to work.

I need that score.

Holding the axe at my side, I approach the dummy, positioning myself to deliver my first blow. I raise it in the air, staring at the dummy's face, the carved in eyes and slit for a mouth making it seem that much more real.

_This is for my wife, _I think. _And for my daughter._

I bring down the axe into its head.

It sinks down into it, and I rip it out, taking the whole head with me. Grabbing the head off the top of the blade, I throw it to the side and swing my axe again. The neck barely remains attached to the rest of the body, and with one more swing, the neck comes off, taking most of the upper-body with it.

It's just the lower part of the torso left.

Backing up, I raise the axe in the air, and with one swift movement, hurl it towards the dummy.

I nod at the Gamemakers, backing up out of the Training Center. Dismissing myself, I walk back down the hallway, the thought of my wife and daughter stuck in my head. Darla's probably home right now, her hand over her stomach, rubbing it.

She's waiting for me to come home. I know it.

She's waiting for me to come home so that we live the life she's always wanted. The two of us, a child of our own, a nice small house somewhere in the forest. That's all she's ever wanted.

I have to give it to her. She deserves it.

She doesn't deserve to be treated poorly anymore. She deserves a peaceful and quaint life.

It's unfair – all of this. The treatment in my District, the harshness of the Capitol, the morbidity of the Hunger Games.

Is that supposed to scare me, though? It doesn't. I'm not scared of anything. If anything, it empowers me. It makes me feel stronger, makes me feel like I have a purpose. My goal is to provide a life for my wife and daughter.

I won't stop until I achieve that goal.

I won't give up. I won't be intimidated by anything.

I will fight. I will survive. I will win.

I _have_ to win.

For Darla.

For our daughter.

* * *

><p><strong>Alumax Derian<br>District Eleven Male, 17 Years Old  
>Gamemaker Sessions<strong>

* * *

><p>"Tasha Levelle."<p>

My eyes trail the girl from District Ten as she walks through the doors, her hands balled up into fists at her side. The doors slide closed, and I look away, a small part of me hoping Anaise still isn't there. That she isn't still watching me, waiting for my session to be over.

When I look back at the corner of the hallway, there she is. She stands there, arms to her side, leaning against the wall. She's staring at me with that deranged smirk still on her face. Closing my eyes, I rest my head back, avoiding any eye-contact with her.

But, I can't get comfortable. I know that she's still watching me.

How do I get rid of someone like that?

"She's still looking at you," Cailen whispers into my ear. I shake my head, still not wanting to open my eyes. "If you can't even look at her, why did you ally with her?"

I scoff.

I didn't even _want _to ally with her. During training, I didn't actively seek an alliance. I made the mistake, though. I went over to the station she was at. How was I supposed to know? How was I supposed to know that she's crazy and obsessive?

This wasn't supposed to happen.

_She _wasn't supposed to happen.

The girl from District Ten comes back out, and her District partner stands up, walking down the hallway. Cailen scoots down the bench a little, clearly eager to get her session over with. I'm eager too, but only to get away from Anaise.

She hasn't stopped following me around.

And, at this point, I don't know what to do.

Am I supposed to just go along with this alliance? I don't trust her and, frankly, I don't even like her. If anything, I prefer Cailen over Anaise – which isn't really saying much.

I shake my head.

_Stay focused, _I remind myself. _You'll deal with her later. _

Cailen laughs to herself, probably sensing my internal-struggle at the moment. As soon as the doors slide back open, Cailen stands up, patting down the back and front of her suit. She smiles at her allies who are waiting for her back at the end of the hallway. At least she's enjoying her alliance.

"Cailen Arkley."

_Just one more person._

_Then, it's my turn._

I lean back up, basically counting down the seconds until Cailen walks through the doors. Then, I can forget about Anaise. I can forget about my twisted alliance with her. I can focus on my training score, on my chances of doing well in the Games.

I can't let myself forget the real reasons I need to fight. The reasons I need to fight and win.

_For my brother._

_To show the Capitol that they don't own me, either. That's why I'm here._

I have to remember that.

"Alumax Derian."

As soon as I hear my name, I shoot up, and as I speed-walk down the hallway, I bump into Cailen. She bounces off of me, laughing and mumbling to herself. I walk through the doors, the discomfort of knowing Anaise is staring at the back of my head still there.

When the doors close, I let out a sigh of relief.

I take my time walking down the hallway, racking through my mind to see what I should work with. Sickles? That'd be an easy choice. I've used those before. But, what about something more challenging to impress them? So that they remember my name?

_They already know me, though._

_Because of Keld. Because of what he did during his Games a year ago._

Entering the Training Center, I pause, the Gamemakers already staring at me. They remain silent, their hands frozen in the air as they watch me take my first step forward. I can see the disgust from the expressions on their faces. They hate me.

And they should.

Because I hate them too.

I immediately go to the sickles. Grabbing one in my hand, I spin around, already slashing at the dummy. With each strike, I imagine Anaise's face on the dummy. I strike it a few times more, tearing the fabric and ripping it to shreds. But, after a while, I don't get satisfaction out of pretending it's Anaise.

I won't get any satisfaction until I can actually kill her.

Stabbing the blade into the dummy's head, I back up, grabbing another sickle. I attack another dummy, tearing this one to shreds as well, not even pausing for a breath. I slice upwards, slicing open the dummy's stomach up to its neck.

With one last strike, I take off the dummy's head, watching it fall back down on the ground. It rolls to the side, and I drop the sickle onto the ground. I smirk at the Gamemakers, all of them still staring at me.

I hope they enjoyed the show.

_Not only mine, but the show my brother put on, too. Where he jumped off his pedestal._

_I'm sure they enjoyed that._

I leave the Training Center, walking back down the hallway. In front of me are the doors, and behind them I know Anaise is standing there, waiting for me. As I approach the doors, they slide open, a figure standing right in front of them already.

And it's Anaise.

She's still waiting for me, that smirk on her face. Surprisingly, I find myself smiling back. I know that I have to be this way for her – to put on some façade until the time is right.

I'll act friendly. I'll be amiable towards her.

I won't show my dislike for her. I won't show how uncomfortable I am with this situation.

If I were to express my true feelings, Anaise would kill me as soon as she gets the chance. I know that she's that type of person – she's crazy. That's about it. But, in the Games, crazy gets you killed. Being obsessive, deluded, and deranged is what gets you targeted.

Little does she know, _I'm _the one targeting her.

But, I'll wait. I'll wait until we get into the arena to show her any of this.

It's her fault she's going to die, anyway. She's letting herself become a target and is going to get killed.

She's stupid. I'm not.

And I won't let myself get killed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I had to spread some things out in the Capitol in order to give most tributes a second POV. So, next chapter will the revealing of Training Scores, and then so forth. I know that some of these Capitol chapters can be a drag, but I really can't do much about it. Soon, we'll enter the Games, yeah? Just a little longer; have some patience.

Next chapter there will be a poll as well asking for your favorite tributes.

So, questions?

Any predictions on some of the Training Scores? What tributes do you think will score high and score low?


	10. Training Scores

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

><p><strong>Aella Rafferty<br>District Three Female, 17 Years Old  
>Training Scores<strong>

* * *

><p>"From District One: Leilani Theriott with a score of – nine."<p>

I get comfortable on the couch, bringing my knees up to my chest and resting my head on a pillow. I look at the blonde girl from One on the screen, the number '9' below her face. The only thing I know about her is that she's allying with the boy from Four.

The Careers really aren't an alliance this year.

I see that as an opportunity. Without Careers, they won't be able to control the Games. They'll go after each other and pick one another off.

Marlin, Kolter, Wren and I can use that to our advantage.

"Ceylon Lanier with a score of – eleven."

_Eleven?_

Marlin laughs to himself, rocking back and forth as he watches the score flash beneath Ceylon's picture. He has a blank expression on in the picture, but his eyes… They convey some emotion.

With a nine and eleven, the tributes from One might still be strong on their own. They don't need the alliance to do well.

"From District Two: Levana Coltello with a score of – nine."

Another nine for another Career.

She has a smug look on her face that's tilted downwards, seemingly staring right at me. Marlin laughs again, tossing a pillow up in the air and then catching it. He seems to be paying no attention to the screen.

Really, I'll get something out of this.

This is the only time where I have gotten a feel for some of the tributes.

"Mathias Mordurie with a score of – eight."

I stretch out my legs, preparing myself to see what my score is. The boy from Two stays on the screen, an '8' flashing underneath his face, the number not seeming as impressive as the other scores so far.

"Are you ready, Marlin?" I call out, and Marlin nods his head. "I think you are going to receive… Hm. A twelve!"

"A twelve?" Marlin asks, throwing himself back into the couch. "I hope I get a thirteen!"

I laugh.

I don't tell him that there's no such thing as a score of thirteen.

"From District Three: Aella Rafferty with a score of – five."

The '5' flashes underneath my face, and I widen my eyes, unsure of how to react. I turn around to find my mentor, and when we make eye-contact, I smile, and she nods her head. Marlin claps for me, and as I look at myself on the screen, I realize it's been a while since I've seen my own face.

I don't look in mirrors much anymore.

There's no real reason behind it.

Marlin stands up, still clapping for me. When my face disappears, his face pops up, and I hold my breath.

_Please, don't give him a one. Please._

"Marlin Crichton with a score of – two."

"A two!" Marlin shouts, throwing his fist in the air. "A two! That's better two better than zero!"

"Does he ever stop?" Aisha asks, clearly annoyed.

Aidan sits there at the other end of the table, sulking down in his seat. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he stares not at the television, but out the window behind it. He's a man of little words, and now to think of it, I haven't heard him say one word since we've gotten here. Even on the train rides he was silent.

Aisha's the opposite.

She always has something to say.

"You could have at least tried to tame him, Aidan," Aisha berates, tapping her fingernail on the table. "You've done nothing this whole time."

Aidan just slides lower into his chair.

He doesn't say or do a thing.

"My point exactly."

"Aisha," Marlin says, perking up his head from the couch in front of me. Aisha sneers, rolling her eyes. "You're not very nice."

"You're not very bright," Aisha retorts. "The two of you would be good friends, actually."

"Why?" Marlin asks. I shake my head, not wanting to get involved.

"Why don't you ask him? Come on, Aidan. Tell them about your phenomenal victory story."

Aidan doesn't say a word. He seems unfazed by it, as if he's heard all of this before from Aisha. Aidan won a few years after Aisha, with her as his mentor, but ironically, Aisha didn't want him to win. That's what I've heard, anyway.

It's just being proven.

"I won't embarrass you, Aidan," she says. "It's not my place. They could at least learn something from you, though. The 'what-not-to-dos' in the arena."

Aidan rests his head on the table, not entertaining Aisha's ridicule. He gives her no satisfaction, and as she turns back around, she locks eye-contact with me. She smirks, walking over towards me, but I look away, seeing where Marlin is now. He's pacing around the room, the training scores still going on, but before I can continue, Aisha sits down next to me.

"Don't waste your time with him," Aisha whispers into my ear. My eyes drift to look at Marlin, who's sitting there, staring out the window as he traces his fingers up and down the glass. "Do what you have to."

"I would never kill him if that's what you're insinuating," I say, gulping. I know Marlin is only going to hold me back. I know that he's only hurting my alliance. "I couldn't."

"Don't let some moral-bound obligation to the boy obstruct your victory."

I remain silent. She is, in fact, telling me to kill him if it comes down to it. She's basically telling me to kill all of my allies if it came down to it. She might have been able to betray her own District partner and her other ally, electrocuting them all in their sleep, but me?

I don't know if I could do that.

I don't even know if I'll be able to kill.

"You're the one with the potential. You're the one who can win."

I nod my head.

I have to believe her – that I do have the potential. That I have what it takes to win.

If she believes in me, then I have to believe in myself.

_I have potential._

_And I can win._

* * *

><p><strong>Drew Kendall<br>District Six Female, 15 Years Old  
>Training Scores<strong>

* * *

><p>"From District Four: Otrera Hale with a score of – eight."<p>

Below, Kolter, Austin, and Arella begin to chatter about the scores and tributes. I grip onto the balcony railing, leaning forward, trying to listen to their conversation carefully. From up here, I manage to not be noticed at all, but I can still listen.

I always can hear what people are saying.

"Just another Career," Arella says. "Stupid. Deluded. Trashy."

"Didn't they say the same about you, Arella?" Austin comments, making him and Kolter laugh. I watch Kolter laugh, his body convulsing up and down as he thrashes on the couch. "But, you're not a Career. That's somewhat redeeming."

"Shut up," Arella replies, rolling her eyes. She rolls her eyes with such intensity, that even though Austin is joking, I see that she's upset by it. It seems like she's heard this ridicule before, where she's compared to a Career. That what she did in the her Games and how she acted is almost as bad as a Career.

With only two kills, she showed the darkest secrets of human nature. She slaughtered her two victims, decapitating one of them and watching the other die from her inflicted wounds. She seemingly got some sick satisfaction from it.

It's like she enjoyed it.

"Jonah Danick with a score of – eight."

"Another eight," Kolter says, reaching out his arm to rest it on top of the couch. "Not as good as the other Careers, though."

"Have anything to say about him, Arella?" Austin says, making him and Kolter laugh. As Kolter convulses with laughter again, he rubs his eyes, the hearty laughter making Arella get red in the face. She turns away, rolling her eyes once more. "We're just kidding, Arella. Calm down."

"Whatever," Arella says, glancing up at the balcony. I kneel down, trying to hide behind the shadow of the railing, and when she looks away, I stand back up. I don't want her to see me.

I don't want any of them to see me.

"From District Five: Anaise Tuist with a score of – seven."

"I heard she's crazy," Kolter says. "She even looks it."

This time, Austin doesn't make a joke. He sits there quietly, playing with his thumbs, his eyes blinking rapidly. Arella goes quiet, too, not looking at either Austin or Kolter. She stares at the screen, the room now completely silent.

Why is he so quiet?

Where is his joke about Arella?

_Don't question it, Drew, _I scold myself, remember what my brother told. To not ask questions. To not worry about things that don't involve me. To not worry about other people or question their actions or words. _You're going to get yourself turned into an avox if you do, _he would say.

That didn't stop me, though.

I question everything.

Like, why it rains when it's cloudy out. Or why flowers are different colors.

But, then I asked more important questions. Like, about the Capitol's hold on the Districts. About the Games themselves. About the rules of the Capitol.

No one had the answers, though.

I'm still searching for them.

"Caden Glite with a score of – three."

"That alliance has Bloodbath written all over it," Arella speaks up, shaking her head. She closes her eyes, tilts her head back, letting her hair fall down. She shimmies her shoulders, putting it up in a bun. "I would know all about that. Right, Austin?"

"Okay, okay," Austin says. "I'm sorry."

Kolter has a perplexed look on his face, unsure of what they're talking about or what they're addressing. He shrugs his shoulders, leans back in the couch, and waits for the next face to come up on the screen. Arella finally opens her eyes, while Austin is now staring down at the ground.

Then, my face comes on the screen. My boring, unspectacular face.

The face that has been overlooked by everyone.

"From District Six: Drew Kendall with a score of – two."

They all go silent. No claps, no shouts. Nothing.

It's like they don't even see my face on the screen.

Finally, Austin speaks up, saying, "Where is she?"

Arella expresses no concern, simply shrugging her shoulders and waving her hand. "Don't know, don't care."

"She has to be somewhere in this room," Kolter says, standing up a little. He sits back down, though, when no one else makes the effort. "I want to congratulate her."

"On what?" Arella sneers. "A two?"

"Don't be rude," Austin says. "You are her mentor. You could at least act like it."

"Sorry to disappoint," she replies, tilting her head back again. "I only mentor tributes I deem worthy."

"Is that your excuse for last year too, then?" Austin snaps, but after he lets the words come out of his mouth, his eyes widen. Arella shoots him a glare, her teeth gritted.

The room falls silent.

I grimace, leaning over the balcony more. Austin nods his head, and Kolter looks around, trying to see if I'm anywhere to be found. But, I'm not.

I'm never anywhere to be found.

"Kolter Hendricks with a score of – five."

For him, though, they clap. Austin gets up, shakes his hand, and Arella sits in her chair, giggling. The room is all of a sudden noisier, compared to my dead-silent reaction. Kolter sits in the couch, and for a second, he glances behind him.

I duck again.

I don't want them to see me. I don't want anyone to see me.

People rarely ever noticed me. They still don't.

As long as I pretended I didn't exist, everyone looked right past me.

And, when people don't notice me, it gives me a chance to crawl further away. To isolate myself from the world, to hide in the darkest corners of my mind.

To take myself to a dark place in the world.

A place where I can think. Where I can reflect. Where I can ask every question that I have ever thought of.

_A place where I can be myself._

_Where no one can find me._

* * *

><p><strong>Gerri Faulkes<br>District Seven Female, 16 Years Old  
>Training Scores<strong>

* * *

><p>"From District Seven: Gerri Faulkes with a score of – four."<p>

Looking up from my lap, I see my face on the screen, a '4' flashing underneath it. I smile sincerely, and as Kearn and Dara nod their heads, my smile grows. I didn't expect a high number, a four… That works.

It's only a number, anyway.

How much can that prove?

"Nice, Gerri," Kearn says, placing his cup down on the table. "Back in the day, I got a four too."

Dara laughs, leaving the kitchen area of the floor and walks over to the sitting area. She sits down in one chair, moving a piece of hair out of her face. "Back in the day is right. Gerri wasn't even born when you won your Games."

Kearn gets red in the face, making me laugh, and as my face disappears, it's replaced by Audrey's. He leans up, and Kearn and Dara go quiet. After the train rides, I have noticed that Audrey has calmed down, but it's still awkward between him and Dara. Whenever we're together, we don't include Audrey much.

There's still that tension from the train rides.

"Audrey Kaman with a score of – seven."

He sits up straight completely now, glancing at Dara, then Kearn, and then back at the television. The '7' flashes underneath his face, and he grips onto the couch, the excitement in his face making me smile. I prefer this Audrey more; the one who's quieter, the one who talks about his wife and daughter sometimes.

He's the one that deserves my attention. The one that I can be nice to.

"Good job," Dara says, rather hesitantly. She stares down at her hands, and when there's a gap of silence, she looks up. "I'm proud of you, Audrey."

"As am I,"Kearn says, looking at Dara. Audrey remains silent, though, and nods his head and then falls back into the couch. I move over a little, and to be honest, it isn't that awkward anymore. If Audrey doesn't want to speak, then he shouldn't have to.

It's better that he's quiet than screaming and yelling, anyway.

"From District Eight: Claire Dasilva with a score of – three."

Looking at Claire's face on the screen, I find myself smiling again. She's a quiet girl, sure, but she's smart. She's one of the smartest girls I have ever come to know. Really, I'm glad she's my ally. The four of us – Nate, Claire, Cailen, and I – make a good team.

I think we really do stand a chance.

"Any idea what she did in there?" Kearn asks, taking a sip from his cup.

I shrug. "She's a smart girl. She might not have brute strength, but her mind is full of knowledge."

Kearn nods his head, staring out the window for a second. I follow his movement, staring out the window too, getting distracted by the birds flying outside. They fly past the window, their wings nearly grazing the window pane. Seeing birds like those… It just reminds me of District Seven. Where, early in the morning, birds would wake everyone up with their chirping and their incessant movements. They would rustle the trees, but I liked the sounds.

It made me feel at peace.

"Nathaniel Bayle with a score of – five."

"I knew he could do it," I comment, remembering that Nate was set on getting a five for a score. He was determined, and now, he did it. He got the score he wanted. "I'm so proud of him."

"As you should be," Kearn replies. "Your alliance has done well so far."

"Do you really think so?" I ask. "I mean… We didn't get the scores the Careers did."

"That doesn't matter," Dara says, shaking her head. "Look at me, right? I only got a six. All the Careers during my year scored a nine or ten."

"From District Nine: Reanine Darsh with a score of – two."

On the screen, Nate's face is replaced by the girl's face from District Nine. I quickly glance at the screen, but then I go back to looking at Dara, ready for her to finish whatever she was saying.

"I killed two of them, didn't I?" Dara says as she blinks, pausing before she continues speaking. "Don't underestimate your score. In reality, they don't matter. They don't prove your worth."

"She has a point," Kearn adds. "Everyone thought I would be a Bloodbath. Even my own mentor did. But, I proved them all wrong. I might have gotten only a four, but I killed. I won."

I nod my head.

He did win and so did Dara.

They might not have scored as well as others, but look at them now; they're Victors.

"Marlon Haigh with a score of – four."

The girl's face is gone, now being replaced by the boy's. A '4' flashes underneath him, and next to me, Audrey shifts on the couch. I look at him, realizing he hasn't said a word all this time. I should leave him alone, but right now, he should at least join in our conversations.

He might get something out of them.

"What's on your mind?" I ask, reaching my leg out and poking him with my foot. "How quiet you're being is taking me by surprise."

"Oh, no, nothing," he says, snapping out of his thoughts. "I miss my family. That's all."

"Do you miss them?"

"A lot," Audrey replies. "Especially my wife. Me being here is only putting her in a bad situation."

"What do you mean?"

"She has no one. Neither of us really did," he says, and I catch Dara and Kearn trying to listen in on the conversation. They look away, though, back at the television. "We were there for each other. And now… I'm not."

"You will be soon," I say, trying to make him feel better. At first, I wasn't so nice to him, but now, he's not all that bad. "You can still win, Audrey. You got a seven!"

"I'm not sure that means I can win, Gerri," he says, his voice getting low. "It's just a number."

I nod my head, watching Audrey's features on his face show some sadness and doubt. Usually, Audrey was this cocky, outgoing guy, but now, he's showing some insecurity. Doesn't he have a point, though? It's just a number.

And, like Dara said, a that number doesn't prove my worth.

It doesn't define what I'm capable of.

Only I am capable of doing that.

Only I can prove my worth.

* * *

><p><strong>Wren Maddox<br>District Twelve Female, 18 Years Old  
>Training Scores<strong>

* * *

><p>"From District Ten: Tasha Levelle with a score of – six."<p>

"She looks scary," Amias says, and I nod my head, exhausted after talking to him for this long. It's not that I don't mind talking to him; it's just, after going through every tribute, I would prefer quiet now. Especially because we're going to see our scores soon. "Don't you agree, Wren?"

"Yes," is all I manage to say. He bobs his head, going back to eagerly watching the television. Ashra roams around the room, pacing back and forth. "Everything alright, Ashra?"

"Oh!" Ashra says, perking up and stopping where she is. She blinks, staring at the ground ahead of me and not at me. "Don't mind me. I just can't sit still."

"Come sit down," I say, gesturing towards the seat across from Amias and I. "District Twelve is almost up."

Ashra shakes her head, choosing to continue pacing back and forth around the room. The girl from District Ten's face fades, being replaced by the boy from Ten.

"Lonan!" Amias exclaims, leaning forward. "I hope he scored well."

"Lonan Hurritt with a score of – five."

Amias clasps his hands together, raising them in the air and pumping them up and down. He makes eye-contact with me, and I smile. His allies so far have gotten rather low scores, but Amias doesn't care. To him, a score is just a number.

But, to me, it's more than that. It's more than just a number.

I realize the weight these scores carry.

"He deserved it," Amias says quietly, bowing his head and looking down at his lap.

The boy from Ten is replaced by the girl from District Eleven, Cailen. I await her score, knowing that out of all the tributes here, her alliance poses a threat to mine. They are just as large as mine, while the Careers are all divvied up into twos.

"From District Eleven: Cailen Arkley with a score of – four."

_Not bad._

I reflect on my alliance's past scores and her alliance's past scores. Aella and Marlin got a five and two respectively, while Kolter also got a five. From Cailen's alliance, Gerri got a four, Claire got a three, and Nathaniel got a five.

It's all pretty even.

_That doesn't mean they're any stronger than us, though._

_I have to have confidence in my alliance._

_I have to have confidence in myself._

"Alumax Derian with a score of – five."

I sit up in the couch, preparing to see my face on the screen. Preparing myself to see the score that I get, that could either make us seem weaker than the other alliance or seem stronger. With these numbers, it's all about the sponsors. If you come across as a strong tribute – like the Careers, for example – you will get more gifts. Careers are expected to be strong and score highly, but when you're from an outer-District, it comes as a surprise to the sponsors.

That's why I need a good enough score. Not only for my own benefit, but for my whole alliance.

If you score high, you will attract sponsors.

If you score low, you won't.

It's as simple as that.

"I want to go bed," Amias says, stretching out his legs as he yawns. "I just want to see our scores, Wren. I hope we did well!"

"I'm sure we did," I say, putting the conversation to rest. Amias falls back into the couch, cuddling up with a pillow.

"From District Twelve: Wren Maddox with a score of – five."

_Five._

_That puts us above the other alliance, then._

Perking up, I look for Ashra, and when I find her behind me, she's already staring at me. She nods her head and then takes a sip from her cup. Amias claps for me, the eager smile already on his face for his score.

I almost feel bad for him.

He doesn't understand it all. The scores. The Games.

I can't help him there, though. Neither can Ashra.

"Amias Black with a score of – three."

"A three!" Amias says, clapping for himself. I smile at him, lightly clapping for him, only doing do it to return the gesture. I don't want him to think that a three isn't good, but in reality, it isn't the best.

Is a five that much better, though?

Amias gets up, scampering away back to his room. He smiles to himself, laughing, and shuts the door behind him. I sit here on the couch, though, watching Ashra murmur to herself in the kitchen. She opens a cupboard, taking out a cup and then goes for the refrigerator.

She makes a face, raising her eyebrow and snarling her lip.

_Are we not strong enough for her?_

_Is that it? _

The television goes black and the room goes silent. Ashra sits down at the counter, slamming the cup down and shaking her head. To think, she was only here a year ago. She was in the exact same position we were, with Katniss as her mentor. Now, Katniss is dead and Ashra is still alive.

It just shows me that Ashra knew what she was doing.

She didn't get involved in the Rebellion. Not directly, anyway. The Capitol had no ties to her ever being involved in it. She might speak out against the Capitol and claim to support the rebels, that isn't enough incriminating evidence to do anything about it.

She's clever about it all.

Even in her Games she was. She had five kills, if I remember correctly. She's among the few Victors with that many kills. Three were Careers, one was a twelve year old from Eleven, and the other was the boy from Six. She killed them all by lighting the arena on fire.

She watched them all burn from above the pit of fire.

And, just like that, she won.

Ashra played the Game and _won_. She played the game, killed, and survived.

She is a Victor.

And, now, it's my turn. It's my turn to play the Game.

It's _my _turn to win.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

One more chapter down, two more to go until the Bloodbath/Day One. How excited are you all? I'm very excited. Very, very excited.

But, anyway, there are Training Scores. They will be up on the blog. Also, there is a poll on my profile, so go vote on that.

Questions:

Are you surprised by any of the Training Scores? Did you expect some tributes to get higher/lower?


	11. Interviews

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

><p><strong>Leilani Theriott<br>District One Female, 18 Years Old  
>Interviews<strong>

* * *

><p>"To start off the night we have Leilani Theriott of District One!"<p>

Running my hand through my hair, I shimmy, taking a large stride onto the stage. I smile as the bright lights and fervent audience greet me, waving my hand as I prance onto the stage. I sit down across from Marcella, cross my legs over one another, and look at him attentively.

_Play yourself up._

_Make yourself stand out._

That's what Affinity told me and I'm not going to disregard advice from the girl who received the most sponsor gifts in any Games ever. She managed to swoon over the audience and now it's my turn. It's my turn to captivate the Capitol.

"Welcome, Leilani," Marcella says, grabbing ahold of my hand and kissing the top of it. "You're look spectacular tonight."

"Aren't I?" I say, giggling, the artificiality in my voice making me disgusted of myself. _I have to do it, though. I have to make myself known for more than just being a rebel. _

"Confident, huh?" Marcella says, getting a chuckle from the audience. He repositions himself in his seat, making himself come closer to me. He leans on the armrest, looking at me from the side of his eye. He glances at the audience and then back at me. "Leilani Theriott. You have quite the mystery surrounding you."

"Mystery?" I say, leaning closer to him. "I'm an open book."

_An open book. Beneath layers and layers of superficiality and lies._

_Perhaps then I am an open book._

"Let's begin with the question that's eating everyone alive, then?" Marcella asks, and I get nervous for a moment, knowing that he could easily ask anything. "Why did you volunteer, Leilani?"

_That's easy._

_To get away from my parents. To make something of myself. _

_To get the freedom I deserve._

"I volunteered to make sure all of my years of training and effort were put to use," I reply. "To make something happen with my life. To fight for everything I deserve."

"To fight for everything you deserve," he repeats, nodding his head. "Is that why you joined those protests? To fight for _everything_ you deserve?"

"That wasn't it," I say, gulping. I try to keep the smile on my face, refusing to let him become that intrusive. "I did it to prove a point."

"A point you will prove, indeed," Marcella says, already standing up. He reaches for my hand, and I give him it, and as I stand up, I curtsey. "Leilani Theriott of District One, everyone!"

Letting go of my hand, he lets me depart, and as I walk off the stage, I maintain my eye-contact with the whole audience. Once I'm off the stage, I drop my smile and pass by Ceylon. He chuckles to himself, and for a quick second, I contemplate saying something to him.

But, just as I turn around, he's gone. He's already on the stage.

I take a seat, leaning back in it as I play with the ends of my hair. I pick at them, twirl them, and stare at my hair as I dangle it in front of my face. On the television screen, Ceylon already has the audience all rowdy.

"What about you, Ceylon?" Marcella asks, holding up his hands in the air. "Did you also volunteer to prove a point?"

Ceylon snorts, leaning back in his chair and looking relaxed. "I'm not proving a point, no."

"Then why are you here?"

"It seemed _fun_," Ceylon answers, making Marcella raise his eyebrow. "Regardless of the outcome, it will be _fun_. I like to do fun things, Marcella. Why did you think I joined the Rebellion?"

"Do tell us about that, Ceylon."

"We bombed a few places. Killed a few people."

"And that's entertaining to you?"

"It sure is," Ceylon replies, a smirk on his face. "It won't compare to the Hunger Games. At least in the arena, I won't get in trouble."

Ceylon and Marcella's conversation goes on, and I stare at Ceylon, his facial expressions making me uncomfortable. He's so eager to get into the Games, to kill… Was that what training in District One was supposed to do to me? Make me like that?

If so, then District One failed somewhere along the line.

Ceylon leaves the stage, and shockingly, takes a seat near me. He sits there, kicks his legs up onto the table, and rests his arms behind his head. He watches the television, seeing Marcella call Levana up next.

Levana grunts as she walks by me, her hands balled into fists and her arms tight to her side. She walks onto the stage like that, and even though she receives a loud roar of claps and screams, she should realize what she looks like right now.

When she sits down, she still has the grudge on her face, with her lip snarled and her teeth showing.

Why is she always so angry? It always seems like she's angry at just me. No one else.

She should understand that I don't care about her nearly as much as she cares about me. To me, she's a nuisance and a distraction. She's nothing I will waste my time worrying about.

Just like with me, Marcella cuts the easy questions short, going right to the ones regarding the Rebellion. When Marcella mentions Lyme, Levana shifts in her seat, and I never knew such a small girl could get as angry as her. I can see it in her eyes the hatred she has not just for me, but also the Capitol.

"Your grandmother is Lyme, correct?" Marcella asks, and he doesn't let Levana respond. "She was quite the victor. Quite the rebel as well. Which did you prefer, Levana? Lyme the victor or Lyme the rebel?"

"Lyme the rebel," Levana deadpans. "Lyme the victor was the Capitol's puppet. Anyone who wins is."

"So, what if you win? What will you become?"

"I will be Levana the victor _and _rebel."

Marcella doesn't comment further on that topic and brings up some more questions about her training score and her alliance with Mathias. I hear Mathias giggle from the side, and when I look at him, he winks at me. I roll my eyes.

He's just as bad as her.

Levana's interview comes to a close, and Levana walks off the stage, ignoring Mathias as she walks past him. She doesn't ignore me, though; she stares at me as she walks by, a blank expression on her face.

"Nice to see you too," I murmur, making Jonah laugh.

Mathias is on the stage now, looking the most comfortable out of anyone that has gone so far. He's sitting up straight in his seat, looking right at the crowd and with a wide smile on his face. He laughs at everything Marcella says and more than once fixes his hair.

I roll my eyes.

"Do you think he's cute?" Ceylon asks, and I don't turn around, not wanting to speak to him. "I think you have a little crush."

Marcella's next question attracts my attention back on the television.

"What do you think of the pastries here in the Capitol?" Marcella asks. "Do they compare to the ones back in District Two?"

Mathias laughs, hoisting himself up in the seat. "No, sir, they do not. I definitely prefer my own home-made pastries."

"I heard they're delicious. Do you have a secret recipe? An ingredient that you add to give it that extra… _kick_?"

"A good baker never reveals their secrets."

"Is it poison?" Marcella cuts in, making Mathias lose his smile for a moment. He gets it back on his face, and Mathias looks away, laughing.

"I don't want to kill my customers, Marcella."

"But killing a victor is acceptable?"

Mathias shifts in his seat, fixing the collar of his suit. Marcella nods his head, and when Mathias doesn't respond, he moves on. They discuss his alliance with Levana and his training score. When Mathias' interview is over, I glance at Jonah, seeing that it's almost his turn. He nods at me, and from the corner of my eye, I see Ceylon waving at Jonah.

I roll my eyes again.

"From District Three, Aella Rafferty!"

The red head from District Three prances onto the stage, bobbing her head side-to-side and flipping her hair. She's wearing a very short dress and is showing way too much skin. There's a difference between looking classy and looking trashy.

"That dress, Aella… It looks great on you," Marcella says, nodding his head and smirking. "How do you feel about it?"

"I like it a lot," she replies, smiling. "It's perfect, actually. It's just like the outfits I wore back in District Three, but definitely not as beautiful as this."

"Back in District Three? Ah, I remember now," he says, making Aella look at him with a confused look. "You were quite the entertainer, correct?"

"I wouldn't say entertainer," she replies. "But, yes, I was quite the riot among my friends."

That's a poor choice of wording. _Riot_.

"A riot. Interesting."

"Oh, no," she says, getting panicky. "Not like that. People just liked me."

"So, you enjoyed life in District Three, yes?" Marcella asks. "If so many people liked you, you must have."

"It had its ups and downs."

"Then why are you here?" Marcella asks her, and I knew that it was only a matter of time. "If you liked your District so much and you didn't do anything wrong, why are you here?"

Aella goes quiet, pausing before she speaks. "It was my uncle. He got me into this situation."

"What are your feelings towards him now that he got you into this situation?"

"The only thing I have to say is that I will now get myself _out_ of this situation. He might have got me here, but it's my responsibility to get me out of it."

Marcella nods his head, as if he understands the 'situation' she's in. Her interview comes to an end, and she walks off the stage, letting the boy from District Three replace him. When Marcella calls his name, he stands there, not yet moving. After a few seconds, a Peacekeeper comes out from behind the curtain, and then Marlin starts moving.

He waddles onto the stage, a goofy look on his face. He walks the opposite way everyone else did, coming around to the chair from the right side. He takes his seat, the audience in an awkward silence. Marcella attempts to talk to him, but Marlin doesn't get all that involved in the conversation.

"Why am I here?" Marlin asks. Marcella chuckles and so does the audience. "What am I doing here?"

Marcella ignores Marlin's question, veering off into a new topic about his allies and training score. I look away from the television, feeling embarrassed for the boy. If my interview was like that, I would feel ashamed. I would be disappointed in myself

But, my interview wasn't like that. My interview was good. My interview is what will help me.

And, if people don't see it from that, they will eventually.

This is only the beginning.

They'll be surprised with what else is to come from me.

_They all will be._

_Especially my parents._

* * *

><p><strong>Jonah Danick<br>District Four Male, 18 Years Old  
>Interviews<strong>

* * *

><p>"Come on out, Otrera Hale of District Four!"<p>

I watch Otrera take the stage, her hair put up in a high bun and her slim-fitting. She waves and smiles at the audience, and when she takes her seat across from Marcella, she sits on the edge of her seat.

I don't have a problem with Otrera, no, but I would like to see her squirm under Marcella's insistent questioning.

I want to see her be proven wrong. That what she's volunteering for and fighting for is _wrong_.

"I heard District Four is lovely this time of year," Marcella says, watching Otrera carefully. "Don't you agree?"

"It's lovely all year round, Marcella," Otrera replies, giggling. "Especially in the winter-time. When I was younger, my family and I always went to down to the lake when it froze over."

"Your family!" He exclaims, and I smirk. Otrera was caught – bringing up her family was her first mistake. That's why she's here, anyway. Because of her aunt. Because of all the things her aunt did wrong. "How are they doing?"

"They're doing well," Otrera answers. "I miss them a lot. All this time away from them is killing me."

Mistake number two: She mentioned being away from her parents. That by being here, she misses them. Of all people, I thought Otrera would be one of the smarter ones, but she's disproved that theory. She allied with Ceylon and now she's messing up her interview.

"Why did you volunteer, then, if you're missing them so much?"

"It's complicated," Otrera says, her smile fading for a quick second. "I had to do what I had to do."

Marcella accepts that answer, but I wouldn't. I would keep asking and asking until I get her to understand what she's doing is delusional. That she thinks she can save her family from this deal that the District placed on her. I'm not aware of all of the conditions, but from what I can tell, the District let her off too easy.

They should have served her a harsher punishment.

Otrera's interview is now over, and as she walks off the stage, she walks by my side. She meets up with Ceylon, and as she takes a seat next to him, I see Leilani still across from him. I laugh, actually a tad excited to join them once this is over.

"Come on out, Jonah Danick!"

I walk onto the stage, keeping my arms tight to my side and making sure I walk with a stride. As I approach Marcella, I grip his hand tightly and forcefully shake it.

"Good evening, Jonah," Marcella says, letting go of my hand and we both sit down. "Tell me: What are you thinking at this exact moment? About the Capitol, the interviews. The audience. Tell us your thoughts."

"It's exactly like I dreamed it would be, Marcella," I reply. "The fascinating buildings and landscape. The people are fascinating as well; their culture, their lifestyles."

"What's it like in District Four?"

"It's beautiful, but not like this," I say, holding out my hand towards the audience. "This is something else."

"How did you find living in District Four, then?"

"I enjoyed it immensely. It was my home, Marcella, and I miss it," I say, hinting back at Otrera's interview. I might miss my home, but I won't the same mistake she did. I won't make _any _of the same mistakes she did. "But, I took the chance and volunteered. I might have left it behind, but I did for a good reason."

"What is that good reason, Jonah?"

"For the first time in my life, I had the chance to fight for something. Of all years, too. This one was different."

"Different in what sense?"

"I have a purpose behind volunteering besides fighting for the Capitol and for my District," I say, thinking of my aunt. My aunt… The one who got me here. The one whose actions put me in the Reaping bowl. "It's more than just the riches and fame for me."

Marcella nods his head. "I understand, Jonah."

"I'm glad someone does, Marcella," I reply. "Not everyone here understands like you and I do."

"That is true," he says, standing up. I stand up with him, and he wraps his arm around my shoulders. "Jonah Danick, everyone!"

I bow, letting a genuine smile form on my face. The clapping, the whistling, the screaming… It's all for me. I can only imagine what it'd be like after I won. Walking off the stage, I find a seat next to Leilani, and the four of us sit there, all looking at each other.

Ceylon and I stare at each other, while Leilani and Otrera stare at each other. I don't know where Mathias and Levana went, but in a way, I'm glad they're not here. Levana is too much to handle; she's too angry. Ceylon and Otrera are more tolerable.

On the screen, the girl from District Five's interview has begun. She seems twitchy, not sitting still or leaving her finger nails alone. Marcella attempts to talk to her, she laughs to herself, turning away and not answering the question. Marcella asks her something, but she comes up with own answer for a question he didn't ask.

"You know what my favorite part was?" She asks him, and he sits there, not answering her. "I liked seeing their faces when I broke into their room. The complete fear on their faces… It was worth it."

"What was worth it?"

"Everything I've done," she says. "I don't regret a thing."

Looking away, I turn back to Ceylon, Otrera, and Leilani. They're all watching the television screen, and as Anaise's interview comes to an end, she gets up on her own before Marcella does. She walks off the stage without Marcella saying good-bye, and when the boy from Five begins to walk on the stage, I hear Ceylon laugh.

"What's her problem?" He asks.

"We all have problems, apparently," Leilani mumbles. She looks at me, a smirk on her face. "Some people just have worse problems than others."

On the screen, Marcella is talking to the boy from District Five. The boy's too small to actually fit in the seat, and as he talks to Marcella, he sinks deeper into it. He finally sits up, though, when Marcella asks about his father.

"Your father's company… Did you have experience in it?"

"He sometimes brought me to work with him," Caden says, grinning. "We played around with some of the chemicals. Make some explosions and animals turn different colors. Things like that."

"Only things like that?"

"He wasn't the most ethical man, I'll admit."

"As his actions prove."

They continue to talk about his family and his District. After a few more minutes, though, Caden's interview is over. He walks off the stage, the smirk being on his face for the whole interview. Marcella introduces the next girl onto the stage – the girl from District Six – and she takes her time to walk towards her seat.

She keeps arms pinned to her chest, her head down, and doesn't look up for even a second.

"Don't be afraid, Drew," Marcella says. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

"There's a lot to be afraid of," she snaps, her voice already full of attitude. "Like death. But, of course, you seem to be unaffected by. You seem to be disinterested in it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because no one in the Capitol cares. They get satisfaction out of watching death."

"That's very accusatory of you."

"It's the truth."

I turn away, already seeing enough negativity. She doesn't know what she's talking… None of these rebels do. They're deluded, manipulated, and misled. They don't know what they're talking about. They're not thinking straight.

When her interview is over, she rushes off the stage, her hair covering her eyes and the rest of her face. She runs through the doors, and on the stage, her District partner takes his turn. He walks onto the stage, a smile on his face. Marcella immediately goes into asking him questions about his training score and his alliance. He laughs here and there, looking rather happy throughout it all.

But, the next question seems to stump him.

"So, why are you here, Kolter?"

"Why am I here?" He repeats, blinking. "I'm here because I volunteered."

"And why did you volunteer?"

"I just wanted to get out of District Six," he says, nodding his head, but Marcella isn't content. Marcella waves his hand, gesturing for him to continue. "I was… I was locked inside of a prison. I couldn't take it any longer. Besides, if I didn't volunteer, I would have either died in that prison or be reaped for the Games, anyway."

"Reaped? Why?"

"Because of my father," Kolter says. "So, instead, I volunteered myself."

Marcella nods, going back to talking with Kolter. I glance at Leilani who's watching the television screen, and when I look back at it, I nod my head. Is this Kolter really a rebel? I don't believe so. He blames his father and he said he volunteered for himself. He had purpose behind volunteering.

And so do I.

He has his reason and I have mine.

We all have our reasons to volunteer. Or, in some cases, our reasons to fight. To keep ourselves alive.

I'm doing this not just for myself or for my family, but for the Capitol.

The Capitol isn't to blame for the rebellion. If anything, the Capitol tried to help them. Tried to nourish them and teach them the right and proper ways.

But, the rebels didn't listen. My _aunt _didn't listen.

And I'm here to prove to everyone once and for all that the Capitol is good.

That the rebels need to be stopped.

That they need to be _eradicated_.

* * *

><p><strong>Claire Dasilva<br>District Eight Female, 18 Years Old  
>Interviews<strong>

* * *

><p>"From District Seven, we have Gerri Faulkes!"<p>

Before Gerri takes the stage, she glances over her shoulder, looking at Nate and I. Cailen is behind us somewhere, and with a small wave, Gerri walks forward. The clapping and screams come as a shock to her, and she flinches, tripping over her feet for a second. She catches herself, sits down across from Marcella, and has a half-smile on her face.

"Don't worry," Nate whispers into my ear. "She'll do great. We all will."

Nudging my elbow backwards, it hits Nate in the stomach, and I direct my attention back on the television screen. Gerri sits there, looking rather nervously. Her hands can't sit still and her eyes are darting all over the place. The conversation progresses well for the most part, but when Marcella brings up her father, her demeanor changes.

She looks angry.

Whether she's angry at Marcella or at her father, I don't know.

"Your father was an educated man, yes?" Marcella says. "I read a column or two from his magazine."

"Did you enjoy it?" Gerri says, trying to be witty, but her voice croaks.

"Not particularly," Marcella answers, shaking his head. "Did you enjoy them?"

"The magazines?" Gerri asks, and Marcella nods his head. Gerri physically gets upset, and she brings her hands up to her face half-way, but then brings them back down. "It was my father's job. It brought my family money."

"Did you agree with him? About what he said?" Marcella persists with the questions.

"Yes," she says feebly, her voice nearly a whisper. Marcella leans forwards. "Yes, I did agree with him. With everything he said. All of it."

Marcella nods his head, continuing on with the questions. Gerri looks uncomfortable now, and as it comes to an end, she can barely keep her eyes open without them tearing up. She rushes off the stage, and when she runs past us, Nate grabs her by the arm. Gerri abruptly, the look on her face making me speechless. She isn't crying yet, but it's there.

"Please," Gerri says, weeping, "Just let me go..."

On the screen, Gerri's District partner walks onto the stage, and Nate lets go of Gerri. Gerri runs through the doors, her sobs now being heard. Only after she left everyone did she cry. I turn to look at Nate, but he points back at the television screen, so I keep watching.

"Audrey Kaman," Marcella says, eying Audrey. "I've heard you're quite the imaginative one. Would you mind telling me one of your stories?"

"My stories?" Audrey asks.

"Yes, the lies you spread throughout your District," Marcella replies. "Those stories."

"They weren't lies, Marcella," Audrey says, getting defensive. "I told them stories of what Panem used to be. I told them the truth of what this is nation is founded on. And, if those are lies, then you are being misled."

"I'm being misled?" Marcella asks. "I can argue that you are."

Audrey begins to get angry. He sits up in his seat, his fingers curling into fists, and Audrey takes a deep breath, sitting back down. Marcella snickers, leaning back in his chair. Audrey ignores his question, and Marcella seems him getting angry with every second the interview goes on, so Marcella changes the topic. When Marcella asks about his family, Audrey seems to calm down and become friendlier.

When he's off the stage, he takes a seat in the corner of the room. He sits there, and I watch him carefully, seeing his eyes close for a few seconds at a time.

"Up next is Claire Dasilva!"

With a light tap, Nate pushes me forward, and I'm startled. I trip over my feet, but I balance myself, walking onto the stage. The lights, the people… It's all so overwhelming. I walk slowly to my seat, already being too distracted with Audrey that I forgot to think of what I could talk about.

I don't know want to mess up.

"Hello, Claire."

"Hi," I say, my voice coming out low. Marcella leans forward, cupping his hand around his ear, making the audience laugh. I feel embarrassed for a moment, but I open my mouth, this time speaking much louder. "Hi."

"That's more like it," Marcella says, falling back into his chair. "So, Claire, I'll go easy on you. Let's start with your family. How are they?"

"My family is good," I reply, knowing he's slowly hinting at my brother. I swallow my anger towards him, already feeling that it's subsided. Was I angry with him? Yes, but I can't do anything about it anymore. There's no point in hating him now.

"Just good? Tell me about them."

"Well, my mother is a nice woman and my father does a lot for me."

"And your brother?"

_Of course._

"My brother… He's opinionated," I say, making the audience laugh. It isn't funny, though. He's the reason I'm here in the first place. "We got along really well."

"Is it because you're both rebels?"

"What?" I ask, taken back by his accusatory question. I'm not a rebel… I might agree with my brother, but I never acted on my views. I sat home and watched it all happen. Just because I thought like a rebel, does that make me one?

"Nothing," Marcella says, waving his hand. "Next I would like to know about your token. Do you have it on you? Or do you have back it in your room?"

"Uh, no," I say, my hands starting to shake. My token… I left that in the Training Center. It was a small patch with the Mockingjay symbol on it that my brother gave me. I left it back in the Center for them to find.

How could they have found it already?

"Interesting," Marcella says, glancing at the audience. Marcella claps his hands together, and he stands up, gesturing for me to stand up with them. He shakes my hand, and I look back to the edge of the stage, seeing Nate's eyes widened. "And, with that, we conclude Claire's interview!"

As I walk off the stage, the audience claps and screams. I pass Nate, my whole body shaking now, and I sit down at the first chair I can. Trying to calm myself down, I stare at the ground, breathing in and out slowly. Nate's already on the stage, and although I can hear his voice, I can't bring myself to look at the screen.

I just want go back to our floor. I want to leave.

From behind me, I can hear Nate on the screen, Marcella already questioning him like he did it to me. Like he did to everyone else.

"Red is such a good color for you," Marcella says. "You know what would make that outfit better?"

"No," Nate says.

"A rose colored accessory. Don't you agree?"

"Red and rose is a nice combination," Nate says, his voice cracking. "You know what else is a nice combination?"

"What's that, Nathaniel?"

"Oppression and exploitation."

Looking up, I hear the crowd go silent. It's all quiet, and Marcella chuckles, nodding his head. Nate sits there, and although he looks nervous, his eyes make him look determined. He knows what he's saying and he isn't afraid to say it anymore.

The Capitol has gone too far this time.

Marcella disregards his comment and goes on to other questions. Nate keeps trying to draw him back to his original question, but Marcella doesn't play along. When his interview is over, Nate comes back over, wrapping his arm around me. He sits down next to me, and we look at Cailen who's standing there, a smile on her face.

Up next is the girl from District Nine. She walks onto the stage hesitantly, bringing her hair behind her ears. She nervously takes a seat, staring at Marcella's feet and not looking up. After Marcella asks her about her parents, though, she seems to liven up.

"I'm going to find Gerri," Nate says. "Want to come?"

"I'll wait for Cailen," I say, shaking my head. "You go, though. I'll meet you guys later."

Nate walks away, whispering something to Cailen when she passes him. I go back to watching the screen, expecting Marcella to pester Reanine with questions now, but he doesn't. Why isn't he?

"Why are you here, Reanine?"

"Because of my parents. They hate the Capitol. They hate everything about it."

"And do you?"

"No."

_That's why._

_Because she doesn't hate the Capitol. She's not a rebel._

At that, the audience screams much louder. They stand up in their seats, and for the first time in her interview, Reanine actually looks like she's enjoying herself. They're only clapping for her because she's one of them.

She's just as bad as them.

Reanine walks off the stage, being replaced by her District partner. Marlon walks onto the stage, sits down, and begins to talk to Marcella. I watch Reanine walk down the row of people, and when she passes the boy from District Ten, he rolls his eyes. She looks upset, but she keeps walks.

Aren't they allies?

Shrugging, I look back on the stage, seeing Marlon is already flustered with Marcella.

"I'm sorry to hear the unfortunate news about your brother," Marcella says, the insincerity in his voice clear. "Do you miss him?"

"Yes, I do," Marlon replies, sitting up in his seat. "The thing I miss most about him is his intense determination drive to take down the Capitol. I respected that."

"Isn't that what got him killed?"

"Isn't that what's going to get me killed too?" Marlon retorts, making Marcella grin. "Will the Capitol kill me too? Or is being here enough punishment?"

"That's a question I cannot answer."

"I'd like to see them try, Marcella," Marlon snaps defensively. "One thing my brother taught is to not back down. To not be weak. To not crack under pressure."

Marcella nods his head, and I look away from the screen, resting my head on my hands. I hear Marlon's interview go on and on, and as Marcella's questions get more intrusive, I feel myself becoming agitated.

Why is the Capitol doing this?

Why is the Capitol embarrassing everyone? Putting us on the spot?

Even me; they put me on the spot. I wasn't expecting something like that… Especially not about my token. With that, they took it too far. They crossed the line.

I'm ready to show them that I am a rebel. That I agree with my brother. But, this time, I'm ready to take action. They won't expect it, either.

Everyone thinks I'm weak. That I'm a people-pleasing pushover. That I'm weak-willed.

But, they're wrong.

I have it in me.

And I'm not afraid to show it anymore.

_I've proved people wrong before._

_This might come as a shock, but I'm ready. I'm ready to fight. I'm ready to do whatever it takes to go home._

_I'm ready to win._

* * *

><p><strong>Amias Black<br>District Twelve Male, 14 Years Old  
>Interviews<strong>

* * *

><p>"From District Ten, we have Tasha Levelle!"<p>

The girl from District Ten, Tasha, walks onto the stage, tugging at bottom of her dress. It's tight on her, and physically, she doesn't look all that comfortable. When she takes her seat, she crosses her legs, then uncrosses them, and then crosses them one more time.

I don't think she looks all that bad.

Marcella starts some conversation, but Tasha seems disinterested, constantly looking at the audience and making a facial expression. Marcella, with a grin on his face, leans forward, leaning his hand on his fest.

"So, Tasha of District Ten," he says, catching her attention. "You're all here for a reason, correct?"

"That's correct," she says.

"What's yours?"

Tasha rolls her eyes, laughing. She looks at Marcella, holding her hand out in front of her, pointing at him. "Don't you already know? Doesn't everyone in the Capitol? I mean, you were the ones who reaped me."

Marcella nods his head and goes back to further questioning. About her alliance with Audrey, about her training score, and about what her plan will be in the arena. Once she's done, she gets up, disregarding Marcella's attempt to shake her hand. Tasha walks off the stage, and Lonan takes his place at the side, and when I wave at him, he looks away.

Maybe he's just nervous.

I know I am.

"Lonan Hurritt, everyone!"

Lonan strides onto the stage, actually looking comfortable as he takes his seat across from Marcella. He sits there, staring at Marcella, not letting his eyes look away like Tasha. Marcella goes through the same basic questioning – about his life back in District Ten and his training – and when he asks about his family, Lonan chuckles.

"My father?" He asks, nodding his head. "Oh, I'll tell you about him."

"Please do, Lonan."

"He was something special," Lonan replies. "I think my favorite aspect of his personality was his complete and utter disregard for his own child's well-being."

"And is that why you killed him?" Marcella asks, and the audience gasps. Lonan tilts his head, a smirk on his face. "You can tell us, Lonan."

My jaw drops too, because I never knew about that. I never knew about Lonan's father or anything… I knew why he was sent here, but I never knew that Lonan might have killed his father.

"No, _I _didn't kill him," he says calmly. "I _did_, however, unlock the door into my house for the people who did."

Marcella nods his head, as if what Lonan is saying is acceptable. He killed his father; does neither of them see something wrong with this? I glance at Rea, Marlon, and Caden, who are all staring at the television screen in shock.

Lonan stands up, shaking Marcella's hand before he walks off the stage. He walks past Caden, Marlon, and Rea, not even looking back at them. He walks through the doors at the end of the hallway, the door slamming behind him. If I could, I would run after him.

I would be a good friend.

"Next up is District Eleven!" Marcella exclaims. "Cailen Arkley!"

Slowly, the girl from Eleven walks onto the stage, her head lowered. The audience's loud claps and screams make her go red in the face, but as she nears the seat, she perks her head up, putting a smile on. She takes her seat, gently placing her hand in Marcella's hand for him to shake. After the basic questions, Marcella ask Cailen about her feelings toward District Eleven.

"It was a fun place for me," she says, getting a genuine smile on her face. It makes me smile, too. "It was fun to explore, with the vastness and all…," she continues, trailing off.

"What else, Cailen?"

She bobs her shoulders, gulping before she speaks again. "I just would change some things. I think we all would, though. Nothing is perfect."

"Is that why you joined that protest, then?" Marcella asks, making Cailen furrow her eyebrows and get red in the face again. "To change something?"

She shakes her head frantically, waving her hands in front of her. "No, no… I never joined the protest. Or any. I never did anything like that."

"That's not what the Capitol says."

"The Capitol is _wrong_," she snaps, immediately looking like she regrets ever saying it. She shifts in her seat, clearly wanting to get up and run off of it. I stand there, my hands getting clammy, not sure what she will say next. "I was telling my friend to get out of it, to leave. She joined the protest… I didn't. I just didn't want her to get in trouble."

Marcella wraps up the interview, with Cailen stuttering and choking up whenever she talks. When it's finally over, she rushes off the stage, burying her face in her hands as she rushes past everyone. I look back after her, seeing the girl from Seven and the two from Eight run after her.

I hope she's okay.

The things Marcella said weren't right of him. He had no place to say any of that.

"Come on out, Alumax Derian!"

The boy from Eleven takes the stage now, lacking any emotion in the face. He sits down, brings his one leg up over the other, and rests his arms on the armrests. Marcella looks him up and down, nodding his head.

"I remember when your brother was in that exact spot," Marcella says, and I see Alumax's lip twitch. "You look alike, you know that?"

"How about we don't talk about him?" Alumax says, trying not to become too emotional like Cailen. "This interview is about me, after all."

"We'll talk about you, then," Marcella says, grinning. "How do _you_ feel about _your _brother?"

"He was my brother," Alumax says, avoiding the obvious question. "I looked up to him. He took care of my family."

Marcella waves his hand. "What about his little spectacle a year ago?"

"Do you mean the time him and his allies jumped off their pedestals?" Alumax snaps. "The time he blew himself up just to prove something to the Capitol?"

"Yes, that is the time."

"I admire him for it."

Marcella nods his head, and apparently, that was good enough for him. The conversation moves on, talking about District Eleven and Alumax's alliance with Anaise. He gets this certain look on his face when he talks about Anaise, and when his interview is over, he sits down in one of the chairs, watching the rest of the interviews.

"From District Twelve, we have Wren Maddox!"

I smile at Wren passes by me, and she walks onto the stage, looking more confident than the rest of them. She was always good at talking, whether with Ashra or our escort.

"Hello, Wren."

"Good evening, Marcella," Wren says, smirking, turning herself towards the audience. "Have any questions for me? You seem to be full of them."

Marcella laughs. "Of course, Wren. I could ask about your safe house or alliance first. What do you choose?"

"The safe house."

"Do tell me about it."

"What's there to say?" Wren asks, trying to make light of the situation. I heard about the safe house she had back in the District for rebels. "It was nice while it lasted. We saved a few lives here and there."

"Was it worth getting caught, though?" Marcella asks. "Was it worth getting reaped over it?"

"I would say so."

Marcella nods and continues to talk to Wren. Wren smiles, laughs, and seems to be enjoying the conversation. When her interview's over, though, she walks off the stage, the smile fading. She almost frowns, brushing by me when I try to speak to her.

What's wrong with her?

"Amias Black, everyone!"

_That's me._

I walk onto the stage, trying to do what Wren did. I smile, wave, and when I take my seat, I get comfortable in the chair. The lights from above beat down on me, and when I look into the audience, I clam up. There's tons of people, all staring at me, waiting for me to talk.

Marcella taps me on the leg. "Amias? I asked how you were."

The audience laughs.

"I'm good," I say, snapping back to look at him. "How about you?"

"I'm good as well," he replies. "So, Amias. Tell me about yourself. About your life back in Twelve. About your friends."

_My friends._

"I had a really good friend named Aiden. I had another named Krystal too," I say, smiling. I didn't realize how much I missed them until this moment. "Aiden was loud, while Krystal was quieter. I liked both of them a lot."

"Did they join in on the protest that you attended?"

I shake my head.

_He's doing to me what he did to everyone else._

"The protest?" I ask, stumped. "No… They weren't there. Only I was."

"Why were you there, Amias?"

"I… I don't know," I say truthfully. I don't know why I was there. Or why I ever thought it would be a good idea to join it. "It just felt right at the moment."

"Does this feel right, then?" Marcella asks. "Does going into the Hunger Games feel 'right?'"

I shake my head.

"No."

Marcella sighs. "It appears you shouldn't have joined the protest, then."

_No, _I remind myself. _I had to join the protest. I had to join to show the Capitol that everything they do is unfair._

_This is all unfair._

_I don't regret joining the protest, but maybe… Maybe I could've done something differently._

_Maybe then I wouldn't be here. Maybe I wouldn't be going off into the Hunger Games._

_Maybe…_

_Maybe I wouldn't be heading to my death._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

This is a really long chapter… It wasn't intended to be. I'm sorry about that.

Can I be honest? The interviews are my least favorite part to do. Too long, too much writing, too much focus on the other tributes and not enough on the one that has a POV. Poll results are also up on the profile.

But, there you go. Next up: Launch.

I'll ask a question:

Did any interviews stand out?


	12. Launch

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

><p><strong>Nathaniel Bayle<br>District Eight Male, 18 Years Old  
>Morning of Launch<strong>

* * *

><p>"Are you scared?"<p>

"Scared?" I ask, turning around to look at Claire. She's standing there, brushing her hair in the mirror. She looks at me in the reflection, frowning. "Scared about what?"

"Stuff," Claire says, shrugging. She places the brush down on the dresser and leans back on it. "The Games. Dying. Not living to see another day."

"Oh," I reply. "That kind of stuff."

Leaning over, I tie my shoes, nervously tapping my other foot. Ever since I woke up, I haven't been able to sit still. If anything, I just want to get on the hovercraft already. I just want to get all of this over with. I sit back up, stretch my back, and look back at Claire. She doesn't look away; she simply stares right at me, her eyes bespeaking some sense of melancholy.

"I'm not scared," I say, which is a half-lie, half-truth. "What's there to be scared about?"

Claire shrugs again. "Nothing in particular."

"Is something wrong, Claire?"

She shakes her head quickly, turning back and around, grabbing the hairbrush. She tugs at her hair, her hands shaking as she pats it down. "Nothing's wrong. I just don't like waiting… It makes me feel worse."

"I agree," I say, sighing. "Just a little bit longer."

"Yeah," she says, focusing on her hair in the mirror. "Just a little bit longer until one of us might get a sword through the chest."

I chuckle. I've gotten used to Claire's dry sense of humor, but of all days, she should keep her remarks to a minimum. "Must you? I have a lot more to worry about than a sword through the chest."

"Like an arrow through the neck," Claire says, and I catch her smirking in the mirror. "Or a club to the head."

"A snapped neck sounds pretty awful to me."

In the doorway is Wallace, his arms crossed as he leans on the wall. He smirks, nodding his head, letting Lonnie slip past him and into the room. They both take seats near the wall, leaning into each other.

"Hi, guys," I say, patting the spot next to me on the bed for Claire to come over. She walks over slowly, the brush still in her hand, and she begins to pick at the little plastic needles on it. "How'd you sleep?"

Lonnie laughs, smiling. "We didn't. It's a tradition Wallace and I have; every night before the Games, we don't sleep. Like everyone else in the Capitol, we watch the reruns of some Games that the Capitol plays the night before."

"Whose was on last night?" I ask.

"Tyson Capper of Nine," Wallace says. "We asked him to watch it with us, but he respectfully declined. It's a shame, too, since he's all alone up there."

"Alone?" Claire asks, finally speaking up.

"He's the only surviving victor from Nine," Lonnie answers, pausing before she continues to speak. "I'm sure it can get lonely."

The room goes silent, with Claire still picking at the hairbrush. Lonnie and Wallace exchange a glance, and I look at the two of them, quickly averting my eyes. I don't mind the silence much, but at a time like this, I'd rather them talk. I'd rather them distract us from where we're headed off to.

I don't want to worry about the Games.

Yet, I still am. I'm worrying about all of the things Claire said. I just hope that Gerri, Claire, and Cailen make it out of the Bloodbath… It's not just about me anymore – I have allies. I have others to pay attention to.

It's something I'm not used to.

Having other people to worry about.

"So," Wallace says, breaking the silence. He stands up and so does Lonnie. They both come closer, their hands reached out in front of them in fists. "As you know, we like traditions."

"What's this?" I ask, both Claire and I unsure of what's going on.

"It's stupid, we know," Lonnie says, shrugging her shoulders. "Just stand up and put your fists in the middle."

Both Claire and I stand up, our fists out in front of us, and we form a circle with the two of them, all of our fists touching. Wallace has a smirk on his face and Lonnie closes her eyes. Claire's eyes are narrowed, and we stand there silently. When Wallace closes his eyes, I close mine as well, only hearing all of us breathing.

"It's time District Eight gets a new victor," Lonnie begins. "Don't you think, Wallace?"

"I do, Lonnie," he replies. "Don't you, Nate?"

"I do."

"Don't you, Claire?"

"I do."

"So, let's do it," Lonnie continues. "Let's bring one home. Let's bring another victor back to District Eight."

_One._

That's all that can survive. Both Claire and I can't; only one of us can. I don't mean to be selfish, but I put myself before Claire, and although I will protect her, I want to go home. I want to go home just as badly as everyone else here. I want to be that new District Eight victor.

"Good luck," Wallace says, and Lonnie echoes him, repeating his words after he says it. "We'll be watching."

We all open our eyes, and Lonnie and Wallace back up, leaving the room with a nod and a smile. Claire goes back to the mirror, and I fall back onto the bed, my eyes still closed as I rest my head on my hands.

_I want to go home._

_I want to be that District Eight victor._

I will fight for that title. I will fight for the chance to survive and to go home.

I'm not going to go down without a fight.

The Capitol might have tried to deter me by reaping me, but it's not working. I'm here and I'm going to fight. If the Capitol wants to quell the Rebellion, then they have to quell me, too.

They'll have to kill me first.

* * *

><p><strong>Caden Glite<br>District Five Male, 15 Years Old  
>Boarding Hovercraft<strong>

* * *

><p>"Everyone, everyone! It's time to go!"<p>

Pushing open my door, I walk through it, coming out of my room at the same time as Anaise. She tilts her head, smiling at me, and I walk the other way. I meet my escort, stylist, and both of our mentors at the door, all of them watching Anaise and I. When we approach them, our escort opens the door, letting the two of us walk out first.

They all walk in front of me now, letting me fall behind as we walk to the elevator. Anaise takes her time, too, but we don't walk side-by-side. As far as our relationship goes, we haven't really had one.

Not that I'm complaining, though.

I don't want any relationship with her.

"Can you guys walk any slower?" My escort says, rolling her eyes. "Hurry up you two."

"Sorry," I say. "I was busy making sure I look good out there today."

"Don't be snide," Caleb berates from ahead of me. "We have places to be."

"_I _do," I say, correcting him. "_You _don't."

Anaise picks up the pace, but I still take my time, and when I finally reach the elevator, I push my way to the back of it. Anaise stands next to me now, but I choose to ignore her. I like pretending she doesn't exist.

I get some satisfaction out of it.

The elevator ride is rather silent. They stand around me, blocking my view of anything. Besides me, Anaise stands there, picking at her nails and flicking the nails on the ground. She chuckles at one point, making me step to the side and away from her.

"Caden," she whispers, still picking her nails. I don't respond at first, so she repeats my name. "Caden?"

"Anaise."

"Are you excited?"

"I'm only excited to get away from you," I sneer, laughing under my breath. "For all we know, we might come across one another in the arena."

"That's funny," Anaise says, snorting. "I never knew how funny you were."

"I never how grating you were, either."

Anaise chuckles some more, but after a while, it softens and turns into a simple breath out of her mouth. It sounds like she has something caught in her throat. It's an unappealing sound, really.

"Deep down," Anaise whispers, staring down at me. She towers over me, but I look up, narrowing my eyebrows. "I've always wanted to kill you."

"You don't frighten me, Anaise," I reply, looking away from her and staring ahead. "You might have scared Alumax into allying with you, but it won't work on me."

"We'll see about that."

"Is that a challenge?" I ask, a grin forming at the corner of my lips. "I like challenges, Anaise."

Rhona looks over her shoulder, making the two of us go quiet. I glance at her one last time, my hands tingling from the eagerness. I would like to see her die.

She'd probably like to see me die, too.

That won't happen, though.

The elevator comes to an abrupt stop, making me jerk forward. They all exit the elevator, and Anaise lets me go first, not feeling small as she still towers over me. She might be tall, but she doesn't nearly have the same intellectual capacity I have.

We're on two different levels.

We reach a large hangar with a hovercraft waiting for us. My mentors, stylist, and escort all stay behind us, letting us walk to it. They take a different hovercraft to the arena location. I notice other tributes are walking towards it as well, but I can't find my allies anywhere. They're probably already on the hovercraft.

I just can't _wait_ to see them.

To see the looks on their faces.

Walking up the ramp of the hovercraft, I take the first seat I find. It's between the girl from District One and the boy from District Seven. The boy sits there, his frame too large for the seat, while the girl from One is rather lean. Neither of them looks at me, though, even as I stare at both of them.

A Peacekeeper begins to walk up and down the rows, holding out tribute's arms and gripping them tightly. They shoot the tracker into their arms, some of the tributes yelping while others remain completely silent. The Peacekeeper's first victim is the girl from District Twelve. She seems unfazed by the shot, simply looking away and blinking once. I watch the blue flashing light travel through their arm, and the next person the Peacekeeper goes to is Amias.

He sits there obediently, and when he catches me watching him, he smiles. I remain expressionless, watching him wince at the needle piercing his arm.

How does he expect to do well in the Games if he can't even endure a little pinch?

I look around for the rest of my allies, and in corner, I see both Reanine and Marlon. Lonan is at the other end of the hovercraft, staring directly at Reanine.

I already can see the cracks in this alliance.

Lonan doesn't like Reanine.

And Marlon doesn't like Lonan.

I just have to pick a side in it all. Reanine goes with Marlon, that's obvious. Amias would go with Reanine, so then he's automatically with Marlon. But, me?

Lonan has the strength. He has the mental capacity that I find intriguing.

He's the one I would go with.

The Peacekeeper passes me, and I feel the smirk grow even wider on my face. It's rather obvious that my alliance will crumble in the Bloodbath. One, perhaps two, will die. I'll be there to witness it all occur, while standing on the side lines, waiting for the moment to add my own effect.

What if Lonan doesn't do anything, though?

What if they all survive?

I shake my head.

That can't happen.

If Lonan won't do anything about it, then I will.

I'm not afraid to throw things for a loop. I'm not afraid to do what everyone else is afraid of.

_And if that means to kill, so be it._

_I will kill if no one else will._

* * *

><p><strong>Otrera Hale<br>District Four Female, 18 Years Old  
>Final Moments<strong>

* * *

><p>"You haven't said a word to me since we got here."<p>

"Get the hint," Evadne snaps, bidding Tigris and Jonah a good-bye as they into his room. She stands there, her arms at her side, waiting for me to move to the side. "Move."

Evadne walks into the room, and I follow her, shaking my head. The doors close behind us, and in the room, there is a table, a locker, and a few hooks. It's a small, metal room, making me feel rather uncomfortable. I don't like being this close to her – especially when there's no one else around.

She'd probably kill me if she had the chance to.

"You can't treat me like this," I say, trying not to sound too desperate. "I am your tribute. You're supposed to help me."

"I can't help you," she replies, looking at herself in the long mirror. "You already ruined any chance of that by joining the Rebellion."

"For the last time-"

"It was your aunt," she interjects. "I'm more than aware."

"Then why are you treating me like this?"

"Your mere relation to her brings me discomfort."

"I can't do anything about that."

"That's your problem, then."

Evadne sits down in one of the metal chairs, crossing her legs. She stares up at the ceiling, tapping her fingernail on her knee, the silence making me feel uneasy. I force myself to find a seat too, waiting for my escort who should be here any moment.

I still don't like being here alone with Evadne.

I don't trust her.

It's not like she trusts me, either.

"So, your ally, Ceylon," Evadne says, ending the silence. I know her by now; she's only starting conversation to either mock me or prove a point. "What's he like?"

"Why are you asking?" I ask defensively. "Why are you interested at all?"

"I just want to make a list of who might kill you," she says, looking at her fingernails. She turns her hand, looking at the palm now. "He's high up on the list. So is Jonah."

"Jonah wouldn't kill me," I say a little too quickly in response.

"What makes you so sure?"

"What did you tell him?" I snap, getting even more defensive. She probably brainwashed him into thinking that he should kill me.

Jonah wouldn't. He couldn't kill me, could he?

No. He wouldn't.

"I told him to do what he has to," she says nonchalantly. She knows what she's doing is messed up. "I'll see what happens."

Before I can come up with a response, the doors open, and my stylist enters. Her and Evadne exchange eye-contact, and she walks swiftly out of the room, gripping her hands along the door hinge before she leaves. She waves her fingers, winking at me. The doors close, and I sit down in the chair she was sitting in. My stylist taps her pen on her clipboard, and I watch her, dissatisfied with everything had just happened.

Having tension between Evadne and I wasn't my intention. I never expected that there would be any in the first place.

_None_ of this is what I expected.

No Careers. Me allying with only the boy from District One.

If I knew that this is how things were going to turn out… Then maybe…

_No._

_You had to volunteer. You didn't have a choice._

"How are you doing today?" My stylists asks, looking up from her clipboard. She walks over to the corner of the room, taps on a locker, and then opens it.

"I've been better," I admit, being completely sincere with my response. I have been better. This isn't normally how I feel or act. "How about you?"

"I am wonderful," she says, placing the clipboard. "Now, let's make you feel wonderful, shall we?"

I nod my head, complying as I stand up and walk over to the locker. She takes out an outfit that's covered with a black case, and as she unzips it, I'm eager to see what it's like. Perhaps getting myself dressed and convincing myself to focus on the Games will distract me from Evadne.

Probably not, but it's worth a shot.

I'll do anything to get my mind off of her.

"Here you go," she says, passing me the hanger. It's a dark gray outfit with maroon cuffs around the neck and ankles and a maroon collar. She places black boots down on the ground and then bows her head and leaves me to it. Picking up the boots, I walk over towards the mirror, examining myself one last time.

_This is it, _I say, staring at my reflection. _After this, I will be in the arena. And once I'm in the arena…_

I shake my head.

I won't think about that now.

Putting on the suit, I zip it up along my chest. It fits comfortably, without being too tight or loose. The boots fit around my feet perfectly, and I tie them tightly. I stand back up, look at myself again, and I let out a sigh.

I was never supposed to be this girl.

A girl who's afraid. A girl who's uncertain of what's to come.

A girl who isn't confident in herself.

_I was never supposed to be that girl. Those types are losers. _

_I am not a loser._

Turning back around, I face my stylist who's already standing at the tube I have to step in. She holds her hand out to the side, welcoming me into it. I smile at her, but it's a feeble smile. One that doesn't convey emotion or sincerity.

I only smile because I don't know what else to do.

_Do you know what you have to do?_

_Fight. Win._

_For my family. For the deal._

Approaching the tube, I curl my fingers into fists, and when I reach the tube, I stop in front of it. I glance at my stylist who's staring at me with wide eyes, and when I step into the tube, I nod my head.

_I'm doing this for all of them. For my father and mother and for Phobos and Deimos. _

_I'm going to win for them. _

I have to think of my family.

I have to think about everything that they're going through as well. It's not just about me anymore.

It's always been about them. It's why I'm here in the first place.

I have to win for them.

I have to win for their _safety_.

* * *

><p><strong>Ceylon Lanier<br>District One Male, 17 Years Old  
>Final Moments<strong>

* * *

><p>"Why did you want to mentor me?"<p>

"What?" Thane says, flinching as he turns to face me. I must have startled him. "Why did I want to mentor you?"

"Yes."

"Who asks that kind of question?"

"I just did."

Thane shifts in his seat, fixes the collar on his shirt, and his upper-lip twitches. He opens his mouth to speak, but he remains quiet, and I lean forward, making him looking even more put on the spot. When I raise an eyebrow is when he finally answers.

"I thought you were interesting," he says, nodding his head as if he's trying to convince himself. "I thought that you had potential… I still think you do. You just have to… You just to become more focused."

"You didn't want to mentor me, did you?" I ask, not believing what he's saying to me. He might be able to convince himself, but I don't believe he ever really wanted to mentor me. I wouldn't want to mentor me, either. "Why didn't anyone else?"

"The others are dead," he says flatly. "Which is partially your fault."

"What about Cashmere? She's still her spunky and trampy self. Even in her fifties she's still doing her thing."

"That's enough, Ceylon."

"Why did Affinity want Leilani?"

"Ceylon."

Slumping back in my seat, I lean my head back and close my eyes. I tap my foot on the ground, expecting Thane to leave soon, but I still hear him breathing. He's sitting there, presumably staring at me as he takes in deep breaths and from the sound of it, it doesn't even sound like he's exhaling.

Do I make him that nervous?

That would _never _be my intention. I want him to be comfortable around me.

"Can I make a request?" Thane asks, leaning back on his heels as his hand grips the doorknob. I look at him, still resting my head on my fist, and he turns around, the look on his face evoking pity in me. He looks so desperate. "Just don't kill Leilani."

"Why?"

"Come on, man," Thane says, the desperation now obvious in his tone. "She's your own District partner. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Not particularly, no."

"That's all I ask of you, Ceylon."

"Is it because you still want to get inside Affinity's pants?" I ask, suppressing a chuckle. His face twists into some choleric expression. "I don't think she would be too happy with you if your own tribute killed hers."

"Ceylon."

Holding my hands up in the air, I open my mouth, swinging my head back and forth. He rolls his eyes, opens the door, and as soon as he takes his first step out of the door, I concede. For now, anyway.

I can't make any promises in the arena.

"Okay, okay," I say, and he looks over his shoulder, still not looking too happy with me. "I'll do us both a favor. I won't kill Leilani and you might get some. Does that sound good?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Does it?" I say more forcefully.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Before Thane closes the door, my stylist slips in, closing the door behind him. He stands there, looking at me, the same look on his face that he always has whenever he sees me. It almost looks like he's about to roll his eyes or maybe even laugh at me. Although, I admit, I don't do anything to him.

He's more tolerable than the rest of the Capitol idiots I've dealt with.

"I always look forward to seeing your shining smile, Ceylon," my stylist says, walking over to the corner of the room with his clipboard. "It truly brightens up my day."

"Do you know what's brightening up _my _day?"

"What's that?"

I point to the clock that's ticking down the minutes and seconds until the Games begin. He glances at it, stares at it for a moment, and then glances back down at his clipboard. He rushes over to the locker in the corner of the room, swings it open, and pulls out the outfit I'll be wearing in the arena.

"I have an idea," I say, leaping off the table. I begin to take off my clothes piece-by-piece, beginning to strip down in front of him. He stands there uncomfortably, the clipboard pinned to his chest tightly. "How about you request that next year the tributes don't wear clothes at all?"

"Why would we do that?"

"To humiliate us," I say, slipping off my socks now. "I think the Capitol would like that. Don't you?"

"I cannot speak on behalf of the Capitol."

"Well, would _you_?"

"No, Ceylon."

"I don't believe that."

Grabbing the outfit from his hands, I stand there, staring at him. He looks away, and I shake my head, the smirk already on my face growing. Looking at the clock one last time, I decide to put on my clothes. I don't want to waste any more time now.

I'm getting bored of tormenting the poor guy.

On the clock, there are only a few more minutes remaining until I am supposed to go into the tube to be launched into the arena. Only a few more minutes until I can actually enter the arena.

_I'm almost there._

_It can't come soon enough._

After a while, the Capitol got tedious and boring. It was the same tributes over and over again – who, frankly, I wouldn't mind seeing dead in the next few hours – and the same people. Even Thane got on my nerves at some points. Leilani, too, but she's funny.

I like the way she dismisses me.

It's endearing.

Walking up to the tube, I stand in front of it, giving my stylist one last flash of my smirk. He stands there, still looking uncomfortable, not saying anything else to me. I nod my head, and as I look back at the tube, I lower my head, staring right into it.

_I'm almost there._

_I'm almost out of this boring place._

_I don't want to be here. I want to be somewhere exciting. _

The Games _are_ exciting, after all.

There's simply so much opportunity. For sabotage. For betrayal. For cruelty.

For _murder_.

Doesn't that sound thrilling? Doesn't that sound _fun_?

I would never have this much fun back in District One. Not even with the Rebellion.

The Games are where it's it at.

And, if I die, so be it.

At least I'll go down while having _fun_.

* * *

><p><strong>Cailen Arkley<br>District Eleven Female, 18 Years Old  
>Launch<strong>

* * *

><p>"It's almost time, sweetheart."<p>

Nodding my head, I walk forward, approaching the tube. My stylist stands there, the look of panic on her face, and I try to smile, but I feel my lips trembling. I feel my hands and legs shaking, too. I feel everything shake.

Once I step into that tube, I'm going into the arena.

I'm going where I've always dreaded of going.

I knew that, once I was reaped, the Games were inevitable. But, it didn't feel real until now. It didn't really feel like I was headed off to the Games while I was in training. I did enjoy training, in a way; I spent time with my allies. I liked that part of it. It's the rest I don't like.

Like being reaped in the first place.

I remember what it was like to be in my first Reaping. The two kids pulled out of the group, dragged up to the stage… It was awful. As the years went on, I saw another two kids, and then another two kids, and so on it went. With each year, I felt myself becoming sadder.

I became angrier.

I would watch the Games each year, trying to support them. District Eleven is known for having Bloodbaths, and every time a tribute from Eleven fell, I fell with them. I cried for them. I watched the Games to pay some respect to the families that lost children.

It's not fair… The Games, the loss of a child.

And I blame the Capitol for that.

I blame them for the Games. For what they do to the Districts.

All of this… It's _their_ fault.

"It's time, dear."

I walk up to the tube, stepping into it. My stylist grabs my hand before it closes, and I hold it tightly, the look in her face a mixture of sadness and insincerity. She's probably like this with all of her tributes. She probably doesn't like seeing them die.

I don't enjoy seeing people die, either.

My stylist lets go of my hand and the tube closes itself off. The plate begins to move upwards, a vibrating sound coming from underneath me. I hold my hands together, clasping them tightly together. The plate moves up and up, eventually stopping abruptly, and I jerk forward, regaining balance on my feet. My eyes widen as I take my first look.

_Where's the Cornucopia?_

The center only has backpacks. Some are bigger than others, while some are smaller. They're all different colors too.

I dart my eyes around each tribute, trying to locate my allies. To the right of me is the boy from District Twelve and I look around the circle, trying to find someone. Then, I locate Claire who's biting her lip and playing around with her hands.

I look for Gerri. I look for Claire. I look for Nate.

They are the ones that I can't see die… The ones I have to protect.

Next to her is Gerri. We make eye-contact, and she smiles, and then she gestures to her right. Nate is a few tributes over, and for a moment, it seems unfair. To me, at least. They're all close to each other.

How am I going to get over there?

The boy from Twelve won't cause me any trouble I don't think, but on my left is the boy from District Three. I don't think he'll cause me much trouble, either.

After weighing my chances of getting to my allies, I look at the arena. It's an indoor arena.

It's a large room, with high-ceilings and with glass-paneling in a patterned design on the ceiling. The floors are a wood, with each panel being polished and all shiny. There are four pillars in the room made from a stone with designs carved into them, all stretching up to the ceiling. On the walls are large glass windows with red curtains, all looking out into an open field with trees and flowers.

_Only if I could go out there._

Around the room are different glass boxes and showcases. There are some items in the large cases, mostly looking like pieces of art or other stone statues. Are those from the Districts? What are they supposed to be?

I look up, seeing a large glass and gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling. When I squint my eyes, I try to see what's hanging from it, and then I see that those are backpacks. There are backpacks draped over the chandelier, hanging from it.

How are we supposed to go get those?

Directly across from me, behind Claire, is a large staircase. The railing is also a shiny wood, with a red carpet draping the staircase. The staircase leads to a balcony that wraps around the whole room, high above everything else. There are also a few doorways and entrances up on the balcony, and when I look back down, I see that there are a few on this level as well.

Then, right next to a door, I see something.

It looks like a plaque.

But, on the plaque is a sword. I look behind other tributes, seeing that everyone has one. Looking over my shoulder, I look at the plaque that's directly behind me, and I see that it's a knife. The knife is stuck on the wooden plaque that's shaped like a five-sided shape.

Am I supposed to go after that?

After I take one last look of the arena – the pillars, the chandelier, the balcony, the plaques, the showcases – I realize that this is a museum.

I'm in a museum.

I begin to fanatically look around, trying to see how much more time we have left. Just as we left the room with our stylist, there were a few minutes left. Were we supposed to count down on our own? I've never been good at counting.

In one corner of the room, though, I see blinking light. It's in one of the glass showcases, etched into a statue of some animal. It shows the number '10', blinking down to '9', then '8', then '7'…

Then '6'.

_These are my final moments._

Then '5'.

_These are my final moments of being the girl who left District Eleven. I won't be that girl anymore._

Then '4'.

_I am going to change. I am going to change in order to help my allies._

Then '3'.

_I am going to help them. I am going to help them survive._

Then '2'.

_I am going to help my whole alliance. We will make it out of the Bloodbath alive._

Then '1'.

_I can't let them down._

* * *

><p>"<em>Let the Hundredth Annual Hunger Games begin!"<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I always love Launch chapters. It just means that I'm closer to the Bloodbath and the Games. Yes, yes, I know, no Cornucopia is a theme in my SYOTs. I like the idea of having none and making the tributes go out and look for more supplies (Five times, though. Really, Teddy?). Yes and I will keep doing so.

I'll get right into questions:

_What do you think about the arena?_

_Who do you want to die in the Bloodbath? Who do you think will die in the Bloodbath?_


	13. Arena: Day One

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

><p><strong>Levana Coltello<br>District Two Female, 16 Years Old  
>Bloodbath<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em>Let the Hundredth Annual Hunger Games begin!"<em>

* * *

><p>I jump off of the pedestal, immediately turning back around and running to the plaque behind me. There are two knives crisscrossing on the wood, and as I rip the two of them off of it, I see the boy from District Three wandering around.<p>

He approaches one of the plaques, this one having a spear attached to it. He goes for it slowly, but he stops at the sound of someone screaming. It's a girl calling his name, and before he can move out of the way or turn around, my knife finds his head.

The boy falls to the side, the end of the knife sticking out from his ear. I grip my other knife, trying to locate where the scream came from, but I don't know. It could've been anyone.

Running over to the boy's body, I pat him down, trying to see if he had gotten ahold of anything yet. There's nothing, though, and with my other hand I rip the spear off the plaque. Mathias finally meets up with me, panting from simply running over here from the other side.

He truly is grating.

I'll keep him around, though. For now, at least.

"Catch," I say, tossing him the spear. "Don't let me see you standing around. Now, go."

Mathias complies, taking off into a light jog back towards the center. I follow him, but nearby, I hear shouts and grunts. To my left is the boy from Seven and Ceylon, the boy from One. The one who refused to join my alliance. The one who resorted to allying with the girl from Four, Otrera.

How stupid of him.

Where is she, anyway?

I planned on killing her. And Leilani.

They're both on my shit-list.

I look to the center, hoping I see at least one of them there by now.

In front of me now is the girl from District Seven and Mathias.

"Mathias!" I shout, watching him spin around. He turns around quickly, and as he notices the girl that was running right behind him, he swings his backpack. It hits her in the face, knocking her down, and as soon as I expect him to kill her, he doesn't.

He just stands there, gawking at me.

I roll my eyes. "I'll do it."

Mathias goes back to collecting a weapon from another plaque, and I take my knife and grip the girl's head by her hair. The girl struggles to get out of my grip and I pull her head back. She stares at me, her eyes filling up tears, but they don't fall out. They just build up, and in her eyes, I can see that she knew this would happen.

She was going to die one way or another.

And, in a way, she should be lucky it's me. I'll make it quick and painless.

"Better luck next time," I whisper, brushing her hair back. Swiftly, I drag the blade across her throat, watching the blood begin to waterfall out. "Eh."

I drop her head, hearing it hit the ground with a thud.

And then I see Leilani.

She's standing there, an arrow knocked on the bow-string. She holds it up, and I find where she's aiming. The two from District Eight and the girl from District Eleven are running up the stairs, with the girl already at the top and the boy from Eight trailing in the back, his hand pressed against the girl from Eleven's back.

How generous of him.

Aiming it at the boy from District Eight who is trying to run up the stairs, she shoots her first arrow. After the first arrow, it misses the boy, completely going right over her head. The boy spins around, hunching over and tries to reach the top of the stairs. The three of them finally reach the top, and they all run around the balcony, slipping into another room.

When they're out of sight, Leilani bends down, scooping up a backpack.

_Now is my chance._

Raising the knife in the air, I take off in a full-sprint towards the center. Just as I reach her, thought, she spins around, catching me in her arms. She falls backwards and I fall on top of her, my knife sliding off to the side. I'm weaponless, though, and I start to pull at her hair. I swat her hands away, trying to assert myself, and eventually, I get her arms pinned down. She's not as strong as she appears to be, apparently.

But, I am.

I lean over her face. "One."

"It's not going to be that easy, Levana," she says, her eyes widening as she speaks. I hesitate for a moment, trying to figure out what she means, but she opens up her mouth again, a facetious expression on her face. "See you later."

I hear a grunt come from besides me.

Suddenly, a force pushes me off of her, and I roll on the ground, and I try to stop myself. It's the boy from District Four, Jonah, with a machete in his hand. He stands there, his other hand holding Leilani's hand, hoisting her up. She winks before she runs away, taking a backpack with her. I scramble to get back up, and I locate my knife, swiftly grabbing it.

But, before I can throw it, I see Mathias.

And they see him, too.

He stands there, a backpack and a knife in his hand, motionless as Leilani and Jonah rush by him.

Leilani's still scrambling to wrap her bow and arrow sheath around her back, and just as they run past him, Jonah smashes the machete's grip into the side of Mathias' head. Just as he falls backward, Leilani glances over her shoulder, slipping an arrow out of the bag. With a quick thrust of her hand, she shoves the arrow tip through his stomach, both of them escaping before I can get back.

I stand there, staring at Mathias' body. I shake my hand.

He should have been more careful.

He might have been expendable – and stupid and annoying – but he was worth something.

But, Leilani and Jonah? They aren't. They are worth nothing.

No one here is... Besides _me_.

Around me, everyone is starting to clear, except for a few stragglers. The boy from Six and the girl from Three are sprinting out of the large room, with the girl from Twelve struggling to keep up with them.

I back up, assessing the arena one last time. There's the staircase leading to a different area, as well as random archways in the walls leading to others as well. There are the glass-boxes that we started in with the plaques behind them. And, when I look up, I see a large chandelier. It's golden and decorated with crystals.

It's not all that bad here.

And, even if it was, I'd have to get over it. I'd have to adapt to it and accustom myself with it in order to win. I will win by controlling these Games; that's what I'll do. I will make these Games mine.

But, it isn't about me anymore. It's not just about my victory – about the riches or fame.

It's about my grandmother, Lyme.

I'm doing this for her. For her name.

I'm going to win to honor her.

To prove that, even though they killed my grandmother, they can't kill me.

Her name _will _live on.

* * *

><p><strong>Tasha Levelle<br>District Ten Female, 17 Years Old  
>Bloodbath<strong>

* * *

><p>The axe on the plaque won't budge.<p>

I try to pull it off again, but it's either stuck on there or nailed on it pretty well. Pressing my one hand on the plaque, I try to pull it off with my other, not stopping until I get it off. Finally, I rip the axe off of the wooden plaque, and just as I turn around, I notice Audrey all the way at the other side of the room.

And he isn't alone.

"Audrey…"

My voice comes out as a whisper, and from all the way over here, I know I can't do anything. I know that, at this point, things aren't looking too good.

For either of us, that is.

I have to help him.

I can't leave him with a Career.

For a moment, I think that Audrey might be safe, but when the boy from District One, Ceylon, notices him, I know it's too late. As soon as they make eye-contact, I leap forwards, going off into a full on sprint. I watch it all unfold, though… I see Ceylon deliver the first punch.

Audrey attempts to tackle him down, but Ceylon jumps to the side, dodging it completely. I bite down on my tongue, trying to sprint as quickly as I can towards them, ignoring anyone else around me. Then, just as Audrey falls to the ground, Ceylon sends his elbow into Audrey's back. He falls down now, and promptly, sends his fist into Audrey's head.

Audrey lies on the ground now.

_I'm almost there._

But, it's too late. Ceylon raises his foot, slamming it down on Audrey's head. His head is flattened, with the blood squirting out onto the ground. Ceylon smirks, though, looking up and locking eye-contact with me. The anger intensifies, and as soon as I get close enough, I fling myself at Ceylon, wielding my axe.

Reactively, Ceylon pushes me away with his chest. I slide backwards, still on my feet, and I end up a few feet away from him. I hold the axe out in front of me, with Ceylon still smirking. He shakes his head, waving his fingers, gesturing for me to come at him again.

"Entertain me," he taunts, poking Audrey's body with his foot. "Show me some emotion."

And, just as I take a step towards him, the girl from District Four positions herself at his side.

"We don't have time," she says, frantically looking around. She looks at the center, then looks along the sides of the walls and even up at the balcony. "We have to go."

Ceylon feigns pouting, still staring at me. I take another step towards him. "Please? Just one more."

"Ceylon," she says, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to go with her out of the door closest to us. Ceylon stares at me as I go, and instinctively, I follow him. I leap through the doorway, trying to find where they ran to, but there's nothing.

It's just an exhibit of some sort.

In the center, there's a large urn with ropes surrounding it. It's a bronze-color, with designs made from gold on it. It's the only thing in here, though, except for another door. Slowly, I walk over to it, trying to see if I can hear them.

Then, I hear the girl's voice.

"I want to go back in there," Ceylon says, and as I get on the ground, I lean into the room. I see the two of them standing there in another doorway, this one leading into a brightly-lit room. "I was having fun."

"It would've gotten you killed," she says, still trying to pull him, but he's staunch this time. He doesn't budge. "Why are you such a child?"

_This is my chance._

_I could throw the axe._

They stand there, and I kneel down, still having enough room to throw the axe. Otrera continues to nag Ceylon, trying to physically move him now from where he's standing. Before she does, though, I throw my axe.

They can't get away with killing Audrey… That was their first mistake. And their second? Thinking that they can walk all over me. That they can get away with it.

That what they did is acceptable.

That what they did I will let side. We're in the Games now. We're in the arena.

I don't have any rules to follow. I don't have any moral code to abide by.

In the arena, I can get payback, not like in District Ten. I got in trouble there and that's what landed me here. But here… I won't get in any trouble.

I can stir up all the shit I want.

The axe cuts through the air, and when she notices it, her eyes widen. She jumps to the side, the axe landing in the wall. It splits the wallpaper, cutting right through it. I stand up now, standing my ground, showing them that I'm not going to run.

I'm not going to accept defeat. I don't give up.

I never have and I am not going to start.

Otrera is tugging at his suit harder now, nearly ripping it off of his skin. He still stands there, staring at me. He grins, his upper-lip twitching as he utters something. Otrera screams in his face, and finally, Ceylon runs off with her.

He looks over his shoulder, though, giving me one last look.

He will be back to find me.

And I'll be waiting for him.

Walking over to the axe, I rip it out of the wall, completely exhausted now. I listen carefully, still hearing the sounds of footsteps running around from the Bloodbath. Then, it finally hits me that Audrey is dead.

Ceylon killed him.

Only if I ran over there quicker… Maybe he would have survived. I could have been a distraction.

Audrey could have survived.

I shake my head.

Why am I acting like this? He was an ally – nothing more, nothing less. Allies are meant to be expendable, aren't they? I'm not supposed to get attached.

Seeing him as something more was my first mistake.

Punching the wall, I let out a scream, angry with not only myself, but with Audrey. Why was he so stupid? Why did he not run away before Ceylon noticed him?

If anyone's to blame, it's him.

It's not me.

I was never supposed to save him. To protect him.

He had to protect himself. He failed.

And, now, I will protect _myself_. I won't fail.

I can do it without Audrey. I can do it on my own. I don't need him.

_I don't need anybody._

_I only need myself._

* * *

><p><strong>Marlon Haigh<br>District Nine Male, 14 Years Old  
>Bloodbath<strong>

* * *

><p>"Where's Amias?!"<p>

Rea stops in her tracks just as we're about to run out of the Bloodbath. Tributes are still running around, and as I look back into the middle, I see Amias hunched over on the ground. He has a backpack slung over his back, desperately trying to crawl away. He leaves a trail of blood, though, and behind him, the girl from District Five is coming back to attack him again.

This time, her axe finds his lower-back.

"Amias!" Rea screams, attracting the attention of the girl. Her head shoots up, a perplexed look on her face, and after she grabs the backpack, she runs away. "We have to go save him!"

"We can't," Lonan says, grabbing Rea before she tries to run away. Lonan wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her out of the main room. Caden trails behind me, as do the two of them.

I walk through an archway, entering another long hallway. There are paintings lining the walls with spotlights on the ceiling. Glancing out the windows that are alternating with the paintings, I see a forest of some sort. Only if we could go outside.

I already need to get out of here.

"I can't believe we left him," Rea says, her voice shaking. "We just… We just left him."

"We had to," Lonan says, his voice deep. I don't bother stopping to see if Rea will be okay. She can handle herself. "There was nothing we could do."

"He was our ally," Rea murmurs. "He-"

There's a scream.

A loud, high-pitched scream.

Widening my eyes, I spin around, my first instinct being to look at Caden. He just stands there, though, his hands held up in front of him. When I look at Lonan, though, my jaw drops.

He has a knife in Rea's side.

Lonan pushes the knife deeper into Rea's side, making the tears stream down her face as she collapses onto the ground. Lonan stands there, trying to pry his knife out of her side, but before he can, I charge at him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I shout, pushing him off of Rea. He is sent flying forward, and he rolls on the ground, trying to grab at the floor to push himself up. I rush over to him, slamming my foot on top of his hand. "Why would you kill her?!"

"She wasn't one of us," Lonan says, breathing heavily. "She was no rebel."

"That doesn't mean you can kill her!" I shout, the rage becoming too much for me to handle. I slam my foot down on his hand again, the sound of bones of cracking muffled by his heavy breathing. "Why?!"

And, before he can say anything, my knife finds _his_ side.

I thrust it deep into his side, the blood pouring out onto my hands. Closing my eyes, I push myself off of him, looking at Rea's body. She lays there, her blonde hair turning a red-shade from the pool of blood underneath her. Lonan's body convulses, flipping over to the side, and I step to the side, staring at both of them. The two bodies lie there now, while Caden just stands there.

He just stood there... He just stood there while I stabbed Lonan. While Lonan stabbed Rea.

He watched Lonan do it.

Why didn't he stop him?

Did he know about this all along? Did they both plan to do this?

Shaking my head, I continue down the hallway, forcefully stomping my feet on the ground with every step. I grit my teeth, balling my hands up into fists. He watched it all unfold. He let this happen.

"Are you trying to leave without me?" Caden's voice speaks up from behind me, and I slow down my pace, letting him catch up. He grabs for my wrist, but I pull it away, not looking at him. "Marlon?"

"Did you know about that all this time?" I snap, pushing him up against the wall. The painting behind him shakes on the wall, and I glance at it, seeing a landscape of trees and flowers. "Did you know Lonan was going to kill her? Tell me the truth."

"No," he says, that stupid grin on his face. I grip my hand around his throat, pushing him harder back against the wall. "I'm not lying, Marlon…"

"I don't believe you," I snarl, trying to keep it my voice a whisper, but it comes out louder than I hoped. "Why should I believe you? You just stood there."

"Marlon… Marlon stop, I can't breathe," he says, his voice muffled and nearly a whisper. I stare at him in the eyes, our face only a few inches from one another, and when I see his eye tear up, I let him go. I drop him to the ground, turning back around and I start to walk away.

"Are you just going to leave me here?"

"Follow me," I say, hearing his footsteps already. "Go for it."

"I really didn't know, Marlon," he says, and I still don't believe it. The sincerity in his voice… I don't believe it for a second. "I really didn't."

"I don't care if you didn't," I say, shaking my head. I stare down at my feet, and as we approach a staircase, I wait at the bottom of it for him to catch up. "You just stood there, Caden. You just stood there as he killed her."

"I didn't know what to do," he says, and for once, I believe him. He sounds defeated.

"I did, though," I say, taking my first step up the staircase. "I killed him. I stabbed him while you just stood there and while Rea was lying on the ground bleeding out."

"Marlon…"

"No," I say, cutting him off. "No more of this."

I walk up the staircase, gripping my hand around the railing. When we reach the top, it leads into another exhibit of the museum. There are statues lined along the walls, each with a different weapon in their hand and a different facial expression. Some are female and some are male, each having their own carvings and designs on them.

I enter the room, turning back around to Caden for one last comment. After this, I don't want to talk about it anymore. It happened, and now, we have to get over it.

He has to learn, though, that I don't want him here. I never really did.

It was Rea who convinced me to ally with him. I don't trust him and I never did.

"Don't expect much from me, Caden," I say, my tone serious. He looks up at me, nodding his head slowly. "I won't protect you. I won't kill for you. I don't even trust you."

I trusted Rea.

I trusted Amias.

But, I never did trust Lonan or Caden. I knew that allying with them was a mistake. Perhaps this wouldn't have happened to us if I didn't listen to Rea. If I didn't let her bring in Caden and Lonan into our alliance.

I wish I told her not to do that. That it was a mistake. I shouldn't dwell on that, though. What's done is done, right?

_But, either way, I did the right thing. I killed Lonan. _

_I killed him because he killed my ally._

_Even if it doesn't feel like it, it was the right thing to do._

_I had to kill him. _

* * *

><p><strong>Aella Rafferty<br>District Three Female, 18 Years Old  
>Day One<strong>

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry about Marlin, Aella. I really am sorry."<p>

"Don't be," I say, forcing a smile onto my face. The corner of my lip trembles, though, and I drag my fingertips along the way as we walk down it. "This is the Hunger Games, after all."

"Yeah, but…," Kolter says, shrugging his shoulders. "He was your District partner."

"He would have to die eventually," I reply, not trying to make it seem like a retort. Did I like Marlin? Yes. Did I expect much from him? No.

I'm not naïve enough to believe that he was ever going to survive.

That he would make it out of the Bloodbath.

"I guess if you want to put like that," Kolter says, and I look over my shoulder past him, seeing Wren trail behind us all the way in the back. She stares at the ground, keeping her head bowed and doesn't look up at all. "Marlin liked you, Aella."

"I'm aware," I say, and somewhere in the distance, I hear a creak. It sounds like it come from nearby, and I hold up my hand, crouching down. It's getting darker and darker, with the sunset's rays shining through the glass windows on the walls. Kolter begins to speak up, but I shush him, inching forward slowly.

Wren comes up from behind us, stopping right next to me. She continues to walk forward, and she turns the corner, entering another room. I follow her, seeing this room full of different statues. Wren and I scan the room, and when we notice no one's in the room, we all stand up.

"What's in here?" Kolter asks, turning the corner.

"Just statues," I say, glancing over a few of them quickly. Then, I come across one that looks a tad familiar, but I'm not sure. I walk up to it, and instantly, I remember the face from somewhere. The statue is leaning on a bow, with an arrow placed in between their fingers. It's a male, definitely, with toned muscles and a sharp jawline. "Wren, come here. Who is this?"

Wren comes over, squinting her eyes to get a better look. With every minute that passes, it gets darker and darker, and I know that we should find somewhere to sleep, but I'm intrigued by these.

"Look down here," Wren says, bending over, cupping her hand around an inscription on the bottom of the statue. She reads it aloud, saying, "Cavalier Pavillion. District One."

"Cavalier?" I ask, not too sure of who that is. "Is that a victor?"

"He was killed from one of the bombings," Wren says, nodding. Wren walks over to the statue a few feet away from Cavalier's, and this one is a female. She has chiseled features that are so exact and intricate that it looks real and is holding a spear out in front of her. "Clara Peronne. District One."

"There's another one over here," Kolter says, and I look at him, seeing him wave his hand to get our attention. "Triton Madeira. District Four."

I find another statue, and this time it's another female. Looking up at the statue, I take a step back, triyng to see it altogether. She's standing tall, her arm bent as she salutes the air in front of her. She has a belt on, several knifes carved into the stone on the belt. "Nashira Vire. District Two."

Wren and Kolter walk around some more, reading aloud the names and Districts on the inscription. In one corner of the room, though, I see a large wooden door. I begin to walk over towards it, already having enough with all of these morbid statues.

They were killed by rebels.

They're trying to show us what we caused. What we have done to this nation's victors.

"We've had enough with this," I call out, watching them poke their heads from around a statue. "Let's get some rest."

I wait for Kolter and Wren to find me, and once they're behind me, I push open the large doors. They're wooden, with designs carved into it. It swirls here and there, all coming together in the middle to form a large circle. Behind the doors is yet another room, but this one's much smaller. It's dark for the most part, except for a small light hanging from the ceiling.

The only thing in the middle is a piece of art made of metal. It's a large circle, with a small piece of metal connected to a star in the center of it. It looks rusty and antique-like.

"Do you know what that is?" Kolter asks, poking his head and arm through the circle.

"No idea," I say, shrugging. I find a spot in the corner of the room, placing my backpack against the wall as I lay down. Wren does the same, and Kolter still looks around the room, touching the walls here and there. "We'll look around tomorrow, Kolter."

Wren's eyes are already closed, and Kolter finally lies down, bringing his knees up to his chest. I watch him close his eyes, and when they're both drifting away into sleep, I sit back up.

I'm not tired. Really, I'm not.

I just wanted time to think. About the Games, about Marlin. About me being here and about me wanting to win.

And, now that I think about it, I'm not sad that Marlin died. Like I told Kolter, this is the Hunger Games, after all. It was inevitable. Their deaths are inevitable, too. All of ours are in the long run. But, I can prolong mine by winning.

I can win and make it home. Then, I can die of old age there. That sounds much more preferable than dying in this arena.

Marlin might have died in here.

Kolter and Wren might die in here, too, and I accept that.

That's always been the plan, anyway. To outlive my allies. To use them for as long as I can.

To make the most of it.

That's always been a talent of mine, anyway. I was never here to make friends. I was here to use people to further myself. To protect myself and to get something out of it.

That won't change.

I'll use Kolter and Wren until they're no longer useable. Until they can no longer help me.

Then, at the right moment, I will make the right decision.

I will let them go.

Just like that, I will let them go.

I will let them _die_.

* * *

><p><strong>Leilani Theriott<br>District One Female, 18 Years Old  
>Day One<strong>

* * *

><p>The first face up on the glass roof is the boy from District Three.<p>

His face is being projected somehow onto the glass, still allowing us to see through it to the outside. In this room, the whole roof is made of squares of glass, and outside, I see the moon surrounded by stars. It makes me feel sentimental if anything.

"That was Levana," Jonah comments, pointing to the boy's face in the sky. He slides further down the wall, resting his head on his backpack. "I saw it."

The boy's face fades from the glass, and up next is the boy from District Seven. When I first got the center, I remember seeing him running off towards the other end of the room. At first, I thought he was running away from me, but then I saw Ceylon.

I figured out what happened after that.

"Ceylon stomped his head in," Jonah comments, pointing up to the sky. "I saw that too."

"You saw a lot apparently," I say, smirking. "How's that post-traumatic stress coming along?"

"Funny," he says, glaring at me from the corner of his eye. He looks back up at the roof when the next face appears. "How's yours?"

"It's getting there," I say, averting my eyes from the boy on the roof to Jonah. "We'll see how I feel when his face pops up on the ceiling."

"It will hit you eventually. Just wait," he says, the levity in his voice not convincing me. He really means that – that, eventually, I will feel some form of guilt. "And, if it doesn't, I will. You deserve a good smacking around."

"Is that so?" I say, suppressing a laugh. It really shouldn't be funny at all. "Then why'd you push Levana off of me?"

"Dying in the Bloodbath? Come on, Lei. I can't let you embarrass District One more than you already have," he retorts, and up on the roof, the next face appears. This time, it's the girl from District Seven. Jonah goes on with his observations, saying, "Levana."

I saw her death too, but after that, that's when Levana attacked me. Jonah pushed her off me, and then… And then we killed Mathias. Well, I did, technically. I looked away, running up the stairs, and when we reached the top, we ran around the balcony. There was a door about halfway down it, and now, that's where we're hiding out.

Then, Mathias' face pops up in the sky. His goofy smirk, his wavy hair… This is the boy my arrow was shoved into it. The one who got in my way. Jonah and I were just trying to get away, and really, wouldn't he have killed either of us? Levana was right there, so if we let him go, something would have happened.

I didn't want to risk it.

It makes it easier, though. His death is simply an added convenience.

"Not even a squeal," Jonah says, chuckling. "What has training in One done to you? Make you stoic? Merciless?"

I smirk.

He has a point.

The next face is the male from District Twelve. Neither of us were there for that. His face fades quickly, though, transitioning into the next one.

"I don't remember seeing her, though," Jonah says, and on the roof is the girl from District Nine. I don't remember seeing her die, either, and when the next face appears, Jonah slides himself back up the wall. "Or him."

Now, it's the boy from District Ten. And when I think of it, I remember that the three of them were allies. The three of them plus the boys from Five and Nine.

"Three of them in a row," I say. "What do you think happened?"

"Betrayal," Jonah says, looking at me from the corner of his eye again and smirking. "One of them had to turn on the others."

"Probably."

Jonah looks away, and as the roof clears, the only thing left is the moon, the stars, and the dark sky. He stares out the roof, and I still look at him, now thinking about how he saved me from Levana. I might have been stupid enough to let my guard down, but Jonah came to rescue me.

Would he have betrayed me under different circumstances? Would he ever betray at all?

I don't think so.

Besides, did I doubt for even a second that Jonah wouldn't save me?

That he would let me die?

No. I knew he was going to come and save me.

He can't let me die – I mean too much to him. I am too valuable to him. Without him, he has no one here; quite literally, actually. Out of everyone here, he's the chauvinistic supporter of the Capitol. He's the one with the rebel aunt that the Capitol killed.

I'm not even being self-centered or cocky; I have always known my place with people. He needs me, and I'll admit, I need him. We are allies, after all, and with Levana and Mathias, and probably Ceylon and Otrera, on our tails, we both need as much assistance as possible.

He might have the Capitol on his side, but that doesn't mean anything. If he isn't careful, they'll kill him too, just like his aunt. He doesn't mean that much to them. He might support the Capitol, but one false move and he's dead. A trap, perhaps, or a muttation chasing after him and ripping him apart.

But, with me, he stands a chance. I'm not anti-Capitol, nor am I anti-Panem in general. It was always more than that.

When I joined those protests, it was an outlet for me to prove something to my parents. That, no matter what they said to me and no matter what they attempted to brainwash me with, I would do what I want. That I had my own rights and opinions and that I was going to express them openly.

My parents were always too uptight and too critical. Even if I mentioned the word rebellion they were still annoyed. They continued to be adamant, however, even after all the nights I came home with a Peacekeeper standing behind me at the front door. Nothing changed, though.

So, I continued. I went to more and more protests. Yet, they still didn't pay me any regard or listen to me.

Except for that one night – where I went along with my friends on one of their escapades. They were vandalizing the Justice Building, and although I never touched one of those spray-paint cans myself, I was then considered a rebel. A protest was one thing, but vandalizing was another.

At least it finally caught my parent's attention, though.

I might have only been tagging along, but it didn't matter to them. To them, I was a disgrace. I was a lost cause. I deserved the punishment the District would give me.

Is this my punishment, though? Not really. I volunteered, right?

I put myself into this situation. I wanted to show my parents that, once again, they didn't own me. That I could do what I wanted to do. That not even the Capitol or the District could deter me from expressing my voice and my desire for independence.

I've always done what I want.

No matter what was expected from me –which wasn't much, seeing as I always somehow let people down in one way or another – I always did things my way. In my own fashion and manner.

And, I will continue to do so.

The Hunger Games simply give me more of an opportunity to be free. To make my own rules. To do what I want.

At least, I'm bound to no one. I'm here for myself. Here, I'm free from obligations and expectations. Back in District One, everything was so rigid. So controlled. But, here... Here, it's different. Nothing is controlling me anymore.

_Not even the Games can control me._

_No one can._

* * *

><p><em><strong>District Three, Marlin Crichton – Placed 24<strong>__**th**_

_**District Seven, Audrey Kaman – Placed 23**__**rd**_

_**District Seven, Gerri Faulkes – Placed 22**__**nd**_

_**District Two, Mathias Mordurie – Placed 21**__**st**_

_**District Twelve, Amias Black – Placed 20**__**th**_

_**District Nine, Reanine Darsh – Placed 19**__**th**_

_**District Ten, Lonan Hurritt – Placed 18**__**th**_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

There is the Bloodbath, everyone.

I can't even tell you how many times I rewrote certain sections and added/removed deaths. But, I finally get a Bloodbath that I, personally, am content with. I really do think every death through and it isn't easy as it seems, okay. Seven deaths will do, though, yeah? I think so. This is a really short Author's Note... Hm. Whatever, I don't want to ramble. The next chapter might be out a little late. My surgery is on this upcoming this Tuesday, and although I'll try to finish Day Two before then, we shall see.

So… Questions!

_Did anyone die that you didn't expect or want to die? Is there anyone you hoped or expected that would die?_


	14. Arena: Day Two

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

><p><strong>Drew Kendall<br>District Six Female, 15 Years Old  
>Day Two<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Don't touch that, Drew.<em>

I hear my brother's words echo in the back of my mind as I get my knife, slipping it out of my backpack. Back in the Bloodbath, I managed to grab this one backpack, and when I opened it, all it had was a knife. A knife that my brother would have scolded me over, telling me that I could hurt myself or even worse – I could hurt someone else.

He might not be here with me right now, but I still feel his presence. I still feel he's right beside me, scolding me like always did. _Don't do that, Drew. Don't say that, Drew._

He never let me do anything.

He never let me speak up.

All he did let me was go through my mundane life, not allowed to say a word about anything. I was allowed to trudge to the factory every day, rubbing my hands together, preparing for my skin to go raw after washing all the clothes. My life was one whole tragedy, and after each step to the factory, I dug myself a deeper grave.

I was going to die there. I know that.

The conditions were poor. The people were even poorer.

But… I am now in the Games. Is that much of a difference? Am I safer here than I was back in Eight in the factory? I might die from a knife in the stomach here, but there, I could have died from a machine malfunction or an explosion.

Would I rather die in the arena or back at home?

_I'd rather not die at all._

_The idea of the unknown and falling into a void is rather unappealing._

Standing up, I sling the backpack over my shoulder, putting the knife away. Even holding it makes me uncomfortable, knowing that right now, Harrick is probably watching me. He's probably watching me, with my mother and Lyron at his side.

My mother probably is sitting in complete silence like always, Lyron is probably cracking some uncalled for joke, and Harrick is probably… He's probably genuinely scared for me. Terrified, even.

He was always the one to care about me most.

He was the _only _one who actually did.

I begin to walk down the hallway, not wanting to stay in the same place for too long. If I do, then people will find me, and if people find me, they'll try to kill me. I'm not safe anywhere in the Games, really, but it's not worth it to sit around and not move. I have to keep moving if I want to survive.

I enter a larger hallway, one that branches off into several others. There are large light fixtures hanging from the ceiling, with one large pillow standing tall in the middle of the hallway. There are glass windows running along the walls, with showcases with different sculptures in them.

Once I take one step forward, I hear two other people talking that are nearby.

_I'm not alone._

"Who do we have here?"

I spin around, and before I assess who the two figures are behind me, I'm already running. I run out of the room, past the large bookcases, and turn down another hallway. At the end of this one is a dead-end, and I stop for a moment, hearing my two chasers catching up to me.

Along the wall, I spot a door, and I slip into it, entering a room with a bunch of different paintings on the wall. They're mostly paintings of flowers, and I run passed them, trying to find another way out. When I find another door, I slip through it, pressing myself up against the wall.

_Maybe they won't find me._

_Maybe… _

"Where did she go?" The one boy asks, panting. He seems to be running much harder and faster than the other one.

"I don't know," the other boy says, his voice more serious.

Gripping onto my backpack, I hold my breath, hoping they turn back and around and don't notice that I came this way. I hope they don't notice me… If they do, they're going to kill me… And I don't want to die.

I don't want to be killed.

"What's over here?"

His voice is too close for comfort, so I take off running down the hallway. I turn another corner, gripping my hands around a smaller pillar to propel myself further. Down this hallway, I see a vent of some sort. I run over it, seeing that it's sealed off, but I can pry it off.

I'll escape through there.

I can make it out of this alive.

_I don't have to die._

I dig my fingers behind the metal seal on the vent, trying to pry off, hearing Caden and Marlon getting closer and closer. I hear their footsteps on the ground, and once Caden shouts something, I begin to panic. I punch the corner of the vent, and it bends a little, and as I slip my finger underneath it, I rip the seal off.

Throwing it to the side, I hoist myself up on the bench and jump into it. I begin to crawl down the vent, unsure of where any of this really will lead to. I just have to get away, though.

I just have to escape.

_I can't let them catch me._

_I can't let them kill me._

_I can't die._

_Not yet._

_Not ever._

* * *

><p><strong>Caden Glite<br>District Five Male, 15 Years Old  
>Day Two<strong>

* * *

><p>"I'm going in."<p>

"Are you sure?"

"I'm going in," I repeat, stepping up onto the bench. Drew already tore off the vent cap, and right now, she could getting away. I can't let her get away – not after the chase she gave. "I'll be back."

Marlon takes a step back, nodding his head. I slip my backpack off my back, dropping it to the side, and kick myself up on the bench. Grabbing onto the vent, I get up into it, immediately crawling after Drew.

My knees bang on the metal beneath me, and I keep my head hunched, propelling myself forward with every crawling motion I do. Ahead of me, I see Drew turn the corner, and I pick up the pace, crawling after her more quickly.

"Get away from me!" Drew calls out, spinning her head around and smacking it against the metal. She winces, going back to crawling away from me. Then, when she turns the next corner, she's trapped. There's nowhere else to go except to crawl back forward.

But, she can't.

I'm already there.

"Don't run," I taunt, getting closer and closer. I didn't want to kill her, no… But, after Lonan killed Reanine, I couldn't help but want to kill someone myself.

I was interested.

And this is my chance to put myself in Lonan's shoes.

With my knife in my hand, I stay on my knees, peering ahead at her. She sits there, her feet out in front of her, ready to kick if she has to. She has no weapon… She has _nothing_.

I wonder what it will feel like.

For her, that is. Or for me.

I crawl forward, and as I get closer, she starts kicking. She pushes her feet down, getting them out of the way, and as soon as I get the opportunity, I thrust my knife forward. It finds her chest, and quickly, I pull my knife back out. Her legs calm down, and she looks up at me, staring at me with wide eyes.

"Running can only get you so far," I say, backing up from her, watching her become soaked in her blood. She brings up her knees to her chest, her mouth agape. "And, for you, running got you trapped in a corner."

Drew opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out.

"It was my pleasure," I say, backing up from her. I take my knife with me, and as I turn around, I find myself smirking. "Rest in peace, Drew."

As I crawl away, I expect to see Marlon waiting there at the end of the vent. But, when I turn the corner, I see that it's sealed off. The vent cap is back on it, sealing me off completely. I crawl faster, trying to see what Marlon is doing, but when I get closer, I stop.

I see something near the entrance of the vent.

It looks like a small tube of sorts.

Is that…

Is that my poison?

Crawling closer to the opening in the vent that is now sealed off, I see a small glass vial. Slowly, I see gas pour out of it, being released into the air. Behind the vent, I see Marlon's face, and within seconds, he's gone.

Marlon… He left me. He left me with my own poison in the vent.

I never would have thought that Marlon would betray me. He might've killed Lonan, but in that moment, I understand why. Lonan killed Reanine, so Marlon killed him in retaliation.

I wasn't going to get involved in that.

Not then, anyway, but now, I am involved. Marlon is now killing me.

Was it that he didn't trust me?

That must be it.

The green gas dissipates towards me, and I drop the knife to my side, bringing my hand to my mouth. Once the gas grazes my skin, it burns immediately, the burning sensation making me crawl away. I can't stay here.

I can't die… Not like this.

The gas begins to swallow me whole, cornering me into a tight section in the vents. Down this part, I see Drew's body all the way down there, her knees brought up to her chest. She lies there, presumably already dead. And now…

It's my turn.

It's my turn to be dead, isn't it?

The gas is all around me now, my eyes beginning to water. I breathe into the cloth of my suit on my hand, not wanting to intake it. I know what this can do. I know the side-effects of this poison.

But, it's too late. The gas comes into contact with my skin, making it bubble over and making it burn all over even more. It all burns – my eyes, my nose, my skin, my mouth. I can barely breathe anymore, and once I remove my hand from my mouth, I know it's all over.

The gas finds its way into my mouth.

And I…

I let it.

I let the gas consume me.

I let the gas kill me.

Smirking, I lie back against the metal sheet in the vent, close my eyes, and open my mouth. I'm going to die regardless… I'm going to die because Marlon used my own poison. He knew I would've killed him eventually.

It's clever of him. I respect his decision, because in reality, I would've done the same thing.

I would've killed him as soon as I get the chance.

My chest begins to feel heavy, the pounding and beating of my heart in my chest starting to slow down. I cough a little, the smirk still on my face, feeling saliva lathered around my lips. I take one deep breathe, feeling the stinging feeling from the gas in my lungs.

_This is it._

_This it for me, then._

_This is it for the master-mind from Five._

_This all wasn't in vain, though._

_I learned something from this. That, in the end, death isn't that bad._

_Death isn't as horrifying as everyone says it is._

_It's rather… intriguing._

_I wonder…_

* * *

><p><strong>Nathaniel Bayle<br>District Eight Male, 18 Years Old  
>Day Two<strong>

* * *

><p>I stare up at the wall, admiring the artwork.<p>

It's a large painting, looking like it was done diligently and patiently by hand. There are strokes of red and yellows, creating little leaves that are lying on the ground. The grass is green, a patch of brown here and there. In the distance of the painting, there's a large farm building, with a red roof and black accents.

The frame around the painting is wooden, with nails at each corner. It looks so rustic, as if someone would actually have this in their home back in District Ten or something. It looks so real.

All of the paintings here do.

Across from where I'm looking at is another painting, but this one is of a house. It's an older-looking home, with wood paneling covering the windows and a ripped curtain one of the windows. The blue paint is chipping off of it, with the door slanted a little. There's a door mat, with dirt and leaves covering it.

There's so much detail in every one of these paintings.

I grew up in a family of artists, so I've always had some appreciation of art.

"Can't sleep?" I turn my head, seeing Cailen standing there, rubbing at her eyes. It's not that dark outside or anything, but the sun is going down slowly. Claire is sound asleep under one of the benches, her backpack clutched to her chest. Cailen laughs, both of us looking at her. "Looks like she isn't having any problems."

"Looks like it," I say, and I scoot over as Cailen takes a seat down next to me. I glance down the hallway, seeing the large arch above the doorway we came in. It's decorative, with a golden trimming around it. This hallway ends with a large window, a large red curtain covering it.

When I look back at Cailen, I see her staring at me, wide-eyed. "Is something wrong?"

"No, why?" I say, shaking my head, glancing back down the hallway at the window.

"I'm not dumb," she says, poking me in the arm. "You've been so quiet, and now you can't even sleep. What's wrong?"

"I just can't get comfortable," I say, offering her a smirk. She disregards it, shaking her own head and nudges me with her elbow. "What?"

"I never understood why boys are so closed-off," she says, moving a piece of hair out of her face. She looks at me, a frown forming on her face. "Is it about Gerri?"

I nod. "Yeah. Gerri."

"I miss her," she says, shrugging her shoulders and biting on her lip. "I just miss the sound of her voice. The way she always had something positive to say."

"Me too."

Cailen shifts in position, hoisting herself up with her hands. She looks at me, and although I want to offer her a grin again, I don't have it in me. I don't have the energy to give her some fake gesture right now.

"If you want me to leave you alone, just say so," Cailen says, her body angled towards me now. "I won't be offended."

I shake my head, scooting over a little more, and I kick out my legs. Leaning back against the wall, I rest my head on the bench's armrest, closing my eyes. I feel Cailen lie down next to me, and I open my eyes one last time, looking at Claire who's still asleep.

"Good idea," Cailen says, making herself comfortable next to me. "Let's go to sleep."

As I close my eyes, Cailen rests her head on my shoulder. I tense up, but after a second or so, I calm down, feeling her nestle her head to get more comfortable. I breathe in and out, trying to get myself to fall asleep, but nothing happens.

I open my eyes, staring at the painting of the house in front of me.

Even though Cailen and Claire are still here, it isn't the same. It isn't the same without Gerri there, with her peppy attitude, just like Cailen said. She always had something positive to say. With her, the alliance felt whole, and now, it feels off.

Like something's missing.

I realize that the chances of the four of us surviving the Bloodbath were slim-to-none, but I clung onto the small slither of hope that perhaps we all could do it. That we all could get out alive. But, once I saw the girl from Two spot Gerri, I knew it was over.

I was almost stupid enough to run over to her and try to save her.

Then, I snapped out that thought. I knew that, if I went over there, Levana would have killed me too. Claire, Cailen, and I all made it to the staircase, but Gerri tried to get a backpack or two. She tried to help this alliance.

And it got her killed.

Closing my eyes again, I try to fall asleep once more. Slowly, I feel myself drifting off, but I can't rid my head of Gerri. The way Levana slit her neck. The way her body laid there, dead. Her face was up in the sky last night, and when I saw it, I knew I should have done something differently.

I could have saved her somehow.

She didn't have to die. Now, I have others to protect. I have Cailen and Claire.

I'll make sure they don't die, either.

I won't let another one of my allies die.

_I can't let another one of them die._

_I can't let any of us die._

* * *

><p><strong>Alumax Derian<br>District Eleven Male, 17 Years Old  
>Day Two<strong>

* * *

><p>"What was that?!"<p>

Anaise perks up, pushing herself up on the wall. She stands up straight, grabbing the knife on the bench next to her, already sprinting down the hallway. I grab my backpack and spear, and for a moment, I contemplate running the other way.

Running the other way and escaping her.

But, when she looks over her shoulder and waves her hand, I know I can't. It's not time yet. It's not time for me to escape, for me to get rid of Anaise altogether. I begin to run after her, glancing out every window I pass by and seeing that it's getting later in the day. The sun's going down, the trees outside casting a shadow over the grounds.

"Did you hear that?!" Anaise shouts, stopping short, frantically looking to her left then to her right. "Someone is nearby… I hear them, 'Max."

_Max._

Cringing at the nickname she has given me, I catch up to her, and as soon as I do, she goes off into another heavy sprint. She runs around a large bookcase, knocking into the corner of it. She keeps running, and as soon as she enters the next room, she stops, her knife pointed out in front of her.

From outside the room, I see a shadow. There's someone else in there with her.

When I get into the room, I see that it's the girl from District Ten, Tasha. She stands there, her hair all disheveled in front of her face, panting. She must have been running away from us, and now, she's trapped. Anaise takes a step forward, but Tasha doesn't up. She stands her ground, her axe in hand.

"Hi there," Anaise says, leaning forward. "I'm Anaise."

"I'm aware."

"You seem disappointed," Anaise says, standing on her tippy-toes. "Are you not happy to see me?"

"No."

"You should be."

"And why is that?'

"Because I am here to kill you now."

"Is that so?"

Anaise lunges at Tasha, but Tasha side-steps, her elbow sent into Anaise's hip. Anaise buckles over, but swiftly, she grabs a few pieces of Tasha's hair. Tasha tries to shake Anaise off of her, but Anaise's grip refuses to lessen. With her other hand, she swipes her knife at Tasha, only cutting Tasha's cheek.

Tasha lets out a shout, forcefully pushing Anaise off of her. I stand here, slowly backing away, not wanting to get involved. This is between Anaise and Tasha… Not me.

It'd make my life easier if Tasha killed her off right now.

Anaise sends her fist flying at Tasha's face, punching her right in the eye. Tasha falls back into the wall, her axe sliding off to the side. Anaise stands over her, pointing her knife down at Tasha.

"Do you see what you've done?" Anaise says, taking a deep breath. "I'm out of breath now."

Tasha opens her mouth to retort, but Anaise slaps her across the face, the gesture making me take a step forward now. I inch closer to her, the way Anaise is taunting the girl bothering me. Anaise inhales again, and she brings the knife closer to Tasha's face.

"Are you still there, 'Max?"

"Yeah."

"Close your eyes. I don't want you to see this."

With one more step forward, I raise my spear, holding it right at Anaise's back. She suspects nothing, and I glance at Tasha, her eyes widening with every second that passes. We make eye-contact, and I shake my head, not doing this to protect her. I'm not doing this for Tasha's benefit.

I… I just can't take it anymore.

I can't deal with her.

With one swift thrust of my arm, the spear impales Anaise from behind. She lets out a snarl, the tip of the spear protruding out from the other side. I see Tasha's face go into complete shock, but I don't see Anaise's face.

I don't want to see it anymore.

"Alumax…"

Taking a step back, I let Anaise's crumble over by herself. I still hold onto the end of my spear, waiting for the right moment to put her down for good.

"Why…"

I shake my head.

With one swing to the side, I take Anaise's body and my spear and toss it to the side. The spear is pushed out from her body, falling besides her, and the girl from District Ten, Tasha, struggles to get back up. She grabs her axe besides her, wiping the blood off of her cheek. Anaise only grazed it with her knife, but still, it drew blood.

And that was when it was too much for me.

Too me for me to handle. To witness.

"Do you want to slap me too?" Tasha snarls, already equipped with her axe. My spear's on the ground, as is Anaise's knife. I'm virtually weaponless at the moment. "I'm not afraid to you fight you too."

"Don't waste your energy," I say, leaning back against the wall, staring down at Anaise's body. As morbid as it is, I prefer seeing the back of her head. I always hated that smirk she had on her face, the smirk that made it seem like she thought her behavior was acceptable. "Go."

"Go?"

"Leave."

"Why would you let me leave?"

"Why question it?"

Tasha nods her head, already backing up. She holds the axe out in front of her, the blood from her cheek beginning to drip down her face again. In an instant, she's gone, turning the corner. Was it smart of me to let her go?

No.

But, after killing Anaise, I feel different. Different in the sense that I don't want to fight Tasha or anyone else. And, at the moment, I'm not in the mood to fight. I'm not in the mood to kill anymore. Anaise was enough for right now.

Sooner or later, Tasha and I will meet up again.

We'll both go far.

Bending down, I pick up my spear, and when I see the blade peeking out from under her, I flip her body over. Then, I see Anaise' face… The smirk. The deranged look in her eyes.

There might be a gaping hole in her stomach, but she still has that look on her face. The look that drove me to do this.

That made me kill her.

My own '_ally_.'

Grabbing her knife, I slip it into my belt, turning away from her body as soon as I can. I don't need to see that anymore; that image that made me do it. I can almost hear the sound of her picking her nails and gnawing at them.

The incessant sound of her picking, and scratching, and tugging at her nails.

It was just so annoying.

_She _was so annoying.

And, now, she's gone.

She's gone because I killed her.

I killed her because I didn't trust her. I killed her because I didn't like her.

I killed her because… Because we're in the arena. In the Capitol, I didn't have the chance to kill the girl. But, here, I was able to. So, I took the chance. I took the chance and killed her.

I don't feel even guilt or remorse or anything like that. I feel different, though.

I feel _relieved_.

* * *

><p><em><strong>District Six, Drew Kendall – Placed 17<strong>__**th**_

_**District Five, Caden Glite – Placed 16**__**th**_

_**District Five, Anaise Tuist – Placed 15**__**th**_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Hi, everyone. This was an unexpected chapter, but I had the motivation to get at least one more out since I don't know when the next update will be after this. So, there is Day Two.

Yes, three more deaths. I like to keep things fast paced and I don't like arena days where there's no deaths. Oops.

Anyway, that's that. Any general comments on the chapter as a whole?

Also, who is your favorite living tribute at the moment?

It might be a few days, a week, or even more until my next update, so until then!


	15. Arena: Day Three

w w w. settleascorehg. blogspot. c o m

w w w. halloffamethg. blogspot. c o m

* * *

><p><strong>Kolter Hendricks<br>District Six Male, 18 Years Old  
>Day Three<strong>

* * *

><p>"Wakey, wakey!"<p>

Leaning over Wren's face, she shoves her hands in front of mine, pushing me away. I fall back, smiling, waving at her when she sits up. Aella's already off scouting out the area and she let Wren and I sleep in. I stand up, and I offer a hand to help Wren help, but she shakes her head, getting up on her own.

"Where's Aella?"

"Off somewhere," I say, shrugging. I toss her one of the backpacks, and she unzips it, taking out one of the food canisters. "She said she'll be back soon."

"Mhm," Wren moans, sinking her teeth into a piece of bread. She chews, and as I watch her, I see her eyes drift from me looking at me to looking at the ground. "Yes?"

"Oh, no, nothing," I say, looking away, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. "The bread just looks good."

Wren tosses me the rest of it, zips the backpack closed, and leans against the wall. She has her knife in hand, and she taps the blade on the wall, and we sit there silently, waiting for Aella to return.

"Want me to go look for her?" I ask, finishing up the bread. I drag my hand across my mouth, wiping it.

"No," Wren says, nodding her head, and goes to the door. She opens it, pokes her head outside it, and then gestures for me to follow. I shrug, pick up the backpacks, and follow her. We walk to the end of the room we're in, the one with the statues, to see if Aella is anywhere to be seen.

Behind us, there's a noise, and I turn around, expecting to see Aella, but it isn't her.

"Well, you aren't Aella," I say, my jaw dropping. "Wren, turn around."

In front of us, the statues are now mobile. They're standing there, each with a weapon in hand, their skin all gray and resembling stone. I glance at the pedestals they were standing on, and one of them takes a step forward, and that's when Aella opens the door from the other room.

The statues stand there, their eyes unblinking and their mouths unmoving.

"Aella," I say, cautiously side-stepping and reaching for Wren's arm. She pulls it away, and when we look past the statue muttations, we see Aella coming out of the room across from the one we were in. "Aella…"

"What?"

"Be quiet," I say, and once she realizes what's standing in front of her, her eyes widen. She walks along the edge of the wall quietly, trying to go around the mutts to join us. We all stand there now, with the mutts tilting their heads, their weapons in their hands. One with a bow, another with a sword, another with a trident.

Are we supposed to fight them?

_I don't want to._

"We need to get out of here," Wren says, her voice drifting further away. She begins to walk backwards, and Aella and I follow suit, and once we get to the door, we all turn around in unison, immediately beginning to sprint away.

And, just as I glance over my shoulder to see if the statues are following us, an arrow whizzes past us, shattering a glass showcase. The showcase tumbles over, and we all jump out of the way, seeing another arrow come from behind us and this time, tear the curtain on the window.

"Where are we supposed to go?!" I say, shuffling my feet, my muscles straining. All of this running… I'm not used to it. I was used to being locked up in a jail cell and sitting on that metal bed all day long. Wren points to the left, and just as we all change direction, there's another arrow.

This time, it catches the back of Aella's leg, and she squeals in pain, her speed slowing down.

Wren keeps running, but I slow down to catch up with Aella, and I wrap my arm around her waist, hoisting her up. We jog now, having to deal with both the weight of her and me now. Wren comes to a dead end with two hallways to the right and left of her.

She turns around, and I wave my hand, and as she points behind us just as another arrow shatters the glass showcase beside Wren. She ducks, running to the left, and when we reach the hallway, Aella lets go of me.

"You're hurt," I say, pulling her back onto my hip, but she refuses, shaking her head and running on her own.

_Did I do something wrong?_

_I just wanted to help her._

We come across a staircase, and when we stop at the top of it, we see more of the statues across the room. There's a large distance from us to the other staircase, leading into another long hallway, with the statues running towards us. But, when I look closer, I see there are other people.

I squint my eyes, trying to get a better look, and when I see three people, I assume it's the two from Eight and the girl from Eleven. They're the only other alliance with three people left.

The statues that are chasing them swing their swords and shoot their own arrows, and the three of them dodge it, stopping instantly at the top of the staircase. Once Wren, Aella, and I place one foot on our staircase, the mutts stop. They stand there, blocking the way we came, not letting us through.

Nathaniel, Claire, and Cailen also step onto the staircase, immediately making their statues cease. We all turn around now, slowly walking down the staircase, occasionally glancing over our shoulders to see if they're following us. The mutts stand there, though, weapons still in hand.

"They want a fight," Wren mumbles, concealing the knife behind her back. "Aella? Kolter?"

"Yes?" Aella says, her voice nearly a whimper. She huddles behind us, slipping the backpack over her back.

"I'll try to get us out of it," Wren says, not letting me speak up. She looks at Aella's side, and then mine, noticing that we both don't have weapons. "But, if I can't…"

"We know, we know," Aella says. "If you can't, we fight. We know."

"Precisely."

The three of us and the three of them reach the bottom of the staircase, all standing in a straight line facing one another. Wren steps forward, her knife still behind her back, and I follow her, while Aella stays behind.

I gulp.

_I don't want to fight._

_I don't want to hurt anyone._

* * *

><p><strong>Wren Maddox<br>District Twelve Female, 18 Years Old  
>Day Three<strong>

* * *

><p>"Hello."<p>

Speaking up, I walk forward, holding the knife behind my back. I sense Kolter following me, and I offer the three of them a smile, but they don't react. Cailen simply stands there, her hands shaking as she grips onto her backpack. Claire and Nathaniel finally take a step forward, showing any weapon they have.

_Perhaps they are more willing to fight than I am._

_Perhaps they are more willing to protect themselves more than I am._

"Hi," Nathaniel says, his words receiving a scowl from Claire who's beside him. "Looks like they did this on purpose."

"It appears so," I say, eying the three of them and then looking around to find any exits. There's one exit in the corner of the room, a curtain partially covering the door. "And it appears we have to meet their demand."

"Your eagerness doesn't surprise me," Claire says, taking the lead. She holds her knife out in front of her, the blade much smaller than the ones Nathaniel and I have. "What if we didn't want to fight?"

"You know that isn't an option," I reply, hoping that Kolter and Aella decided to follow me now. "The Gamemakers won't let us get away without at least one death."

"Or two, or three, or four," Claire continues, her face expressionless. Is now the time to joke? But, she does have a point. It would be better for me if more than one died here. Marlin already died, so what if Aella or Kolter died?

Would I mind all that much?

_Stop it, _I scold myself, shaking my head. _They are your allies._

_You want to keep them alive just as much as you want to survive._

"I don't expect any of us to initiate anything," I say aloud, catching the attention of Nathaniel. He's standing there, watching Kolter carefully, but I notice him. Will he go after him?

_He is the easiest target. _

"But, as I said, the Gamemakers want a fight," I say, trying to distract everyone with my random talking. "And a fight is what we will give them."

Both Aella and Kolter have walked off on their own, and so have Claire and Cailen. Claire and Cailen stay more closely at each other's side, though, while Kolter and Aella still drift apart. I finally show my blade as Nathaniel raises his, unsure of what his intentions are.

_What if he comes after me?_

_Would Kolter or Aella try to save me?_

_Would I expect them to do the same?_

Kolter's in Nathaniel's line of sight now, and I give Claire and Cailen one last glance, their facial expressions showing me that they probably won't do much. They probably don't want to kill. _Do I, though?_

_Do I actually want to kill?_

Before anyone can say another word, Nathaniel goes after Kolter. Kolter drifted too far away from my side, and I watch it all unfold, with Kolter throwing up his arms to protect his face. Nathaniel has a knife, though, while Kolter has nothing.

_He has me._

_He has Aella, too._

_He has his allies._

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Aella. She's gripping onto the backpack on her back, hunched over, and scurrying towards the corner of the room. Once she reaches the exit, she glances back at me with such audacity in her eyes.

_She left us._

_She left us to die._

Can I really blame her, though? She's saving herself.

Turning back around, I notice Kolter and Nathaniel still wrestling with one another. Claire and Cailen are off to the side, avoiding the confrontation, and I glance back and forth, weighing my options. I could kill Nathaniel, protect Kolter. I could go after Cailen and Claire.

_Or I could run._

_Just like Aella did._

_Just like I've always wanted to do._

Shaking my head, I run towards Nathaniel and Kolter, trying to get him off of Kolter. Kolter punches back, sending his fist right into Nathaniel's jaw, making him fall back and groan in pain. Kolter frantically tries to punch him again, but this time, Nathaniel dodges it, stabbing him right in the upper-thigh. Just as I make it over there, I reach to push Nathaniel off of Kolter, but Kolter attempts to punch Nathaniel again, falling right on top of him.

Within a second, Nathaniel's blade finds Kolter's shoulder, the two of them writhing on the ground. I stand back, beginning to panic, unsure if I can really help him. If I can _really _save Kolter.

_If I should at all, too._

Kolter extends his arm, pinning Nathaniel down on the ground, but Nathaniel manages to free his arm, the blade in his head. When I see he's aiming for Kolter's neck, I rush towards them, but in that moment, I realize it's too late.

I hesitated.

And, in that split second, Nathaniel took Kolter's life.

The blade finds the back of Kolter's neck, making him arch his back. Kolter falls off of him, the blood slowly pouring out of his neck. I stand there, watching Nathaniel get back up, and before he can, I jump on top of him.

_That's enough._

_I have to do something._

With my foot, I jam down on his wrist, making him release the knife. He attempts to push me off and get up himself, and I fall backwards, sending the hell of my boot into his face. He gets a bloody nose, the blood running down his face, and just as he is about to stand up, I pull him back down, using his own weight to boost me back up.

I lean over him, staring him directly in the eyes. The blood's covering most of his face, and as I stare into his eyes that are full of pain and shock, I shake my head. I had to get involved.

I had to do something. It went too far.

_He killed Kolter._

_And, now, I'm risking myself dying. He could kill me now._

_Why did I get myself into this situation?_

_Why couldn't have I just run?_

_Why couldn't I have just saved myself?_

* * *

><p><strong>Claire Dasilva<br>District Eight Female, 18 Years Old  
>Day Three<strong>

* * *

><p>Nathaniel scrambles to get on his feet, pushing himself and kicking his legs back.<p>

Claire and I are already out of the way, running back up the stairs, and as I see Nate struggling on the ground, I stop, hearing Cailen's heavy foot-steps still going. Back on the ground floor, I see Kolter's body, the bloody mess making Wren shake her head and look away. Aella is already gone, nothing left of her except for her two allies.

_Coward._

_She left her allies…_

_Isn't that something I'd do, though? Something I plan on doing?_

Wren spots the girl running away, tensing up as she slips through the doors. Just like that, two allies of hers are gone.

One of them killed.

One of them abandoned her.

_I'll have to do the latter eventually to Cailen._

I shake my head, taking a step back down the stairs, gripping onto the railing. In my other hand, I have my spear, and at my side, Cailen appears. She stands there, her hand over her mouth, and as Wren approaches Nate, I wince.

"We have to go help him," Cailen says, taking another step, but I grab her wrist. She jerks back, and I begin to tremble, unsure if we should go back down. The mutts… They could be anywhere. Wren is down there too.

_I don't know what to do._

Nate manages to finally stand up, and when I see he's weaponless, I let go of Cailen's arm. Wren and Nate stand there across from one another, not that much distance between each other. Wren's mouth is expressionless, and she widens her eyes just as Nate takes the chance to run away.

With one jut of her arm, her fist goes flying into Nate's side, making him fall back down. This time, though, he gets up quickly, prepared to fight. He goes in for his own attack, but Wren dodges it, using her knife. She cuts him on the hand, making Nate grip it tightly to his chest.

"We have to help him," Cailen says, adding more emphasis this time. She begins to walk back down the stairs, and I stand there, watching the fight still go down between them. Wren goes to swipe her knife at Nate again, but this time, he grabs her wrist, pulling her entire body-weight down with him. "We can't just stand here, Claire! Why aren't you moving?!"

I remain silent.

When Wren raises her hand this time, she anticipates Nate's reaction, already shoving her other hand to pin down his arm. Wren implants the knife into his shoulder, and when I hear his shout, I finally take another step. Cailen's already at the bottom, and as Wren yanks the knife out and looks over her shoulder, we all freeze.

She brings the knife back down, looking away, right into his skull.

His cannon sounds a few seconds after.

Wren stands back up, leaving the knife in Nate's head, facing Cailen now. Cailen stands there, shaking, her fingers moving incessantly. She looks frantic, unsure of where to go, and I glance over my shoulder, seeing the door right there.

I could leave…

I could leave Cailen right now. I could run.

I could let Wren kill her.

But, for some reason, I can't. I can't run… It doesn't feel right.

I can't leave her just yet.

"Cailen," I say, reaching my hand out. "Cailen, we have to go. Turn around and let's go."

"You… You killed Nate," she says, stuttering. Wren nods her head, her hands stained with blood, and she wipes them on her suit, taking a step forward. I begin to get nervous, and I look at the two of them, knowing that she'd kill Wren easily.

Cailen… She's too nice.

_Everyone thinks I'm the nice girl, too._

Once Wren takes one step closer, Cailen begins to panic. She backs up on the steps, her mouth still agape, the disbelief smacked on her face. She picks up the pace, backing up more quickly, and once she reaches me, I grab her wrist.

I pull her up the stairs, and when we reach the top, I don't let her look back at Wren.

"She killed him," she murmurs, her hands clammy. "Claire…"

Eventually, I let go of her wrist, and she rubs the spot, all red and blotchy from my tight grip. I find a smaller alcove in the hallway, where there's a window seat of sorts. It's a bench, looking right out into the open field with the trees and flowers. I pull Cailen into it, sit her down, and I peak my head outside, trying to see if Wren is following us.

I don't expect her to – not after all of that.

Not after she witnessed Nate kill her ally.

Not after she killed Nate.

"Claire?"

"Yes?"

"I should have done something," she says, only berating herself. I'm not here to support this pity-party. "We could have helped him..."

I take a deep breath, sitting down next to her. She sits there, looking down at her lap, shaking as she presses her hand against the window. "It's just like Gerri, Cailen. We _could _have done something; we _could _have fought Levana or we _could _have fought Wren."

"Then why didn't we?"

"Why risk us losing our lives too?"

Cailen falls silent, now resting her head on the window. She breathes steadily, her eyelids slowly starting to close, but she resists, rapidly blinking. After a while, I bring up my legs onto the bench, lean against the window, and watch Cailen slowly drift off into sleep.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," I say, offering her a smile. Her eyes are closed, though, and this time, she doesn't resist. She continues to talk, with her words coming out as a drawl.

"I…," she says, her voice soft. "I just want to help, Claire. I… I could have done something to save Gerri and Nate…"

Without interrupting, I let Cailen talk. She's that type of girl; even in the Capitol, whenever she got upset, she rambled on and on, and I learned to just let her. It's better that she gets it all out, anyway. Bottling up all of this wouldn't help her.

"I'm just sorry."

Now, she falls silent once more, but this time, she begins to sleep. I sit there, across from her, staring out the window, seeing that it's only the two of us now. There's no more Nate. It's just Cailen and I.

I knew it was coming all along.

I knew he would die. I knew Gerri would die. I know that Cailen will die, too.

I've prepared myself for that. I've accepted it.

That doesn't mean I will leave, though. Not yet, anyway. There's still purpose by me sticking around with Cailen, for me to maintain this alliance, even without Gerri and Nathaniel.

I can do it on my own, but for now, I'll stay with Cailen.

I'll wait until it's time.

Until I _have _to leave.

_Even if I don't want to._

* * *

><p><strong>Ceylon Lanier<br>District One Male, 17 Years Old  
>Day Three<strong>

* * *

><p>"Wanna' spoon?"<p>

"Excuse me?" Otrera replies, still facing the wall. Her body flinches, probably bracing for me to come over there and cuddle with her, but I chuckle, making her sit up and stare at me. Her hair falls down in front of her face, and she pulls it back, a disgusted look on her face.

It's not even really disgusted.

It's the look that most people have on their face whenever they talk to me.

One with a mixture of entertainment, disapproval, and shock.

"I mean," I say, winking, patting the spot next to me. She rolls her eyes, completely flustered, and lies back down, but this time, she faces me. "There's just _so _much room on this bench."

"Good night, Ceylon."

"Don't be like that," I say, tugging on the chain around my neck. I kick my feet out, feeling the tingling sensation in the bottom of my feet from lying for too long. I don't like that feeling.

I don't like being idle.

"Please, go to bed, Ceylon."

"Whenever I close my eyes, Otrera," I say, inhaling deeply, trying to sound as dramatic as I can. I hear Otrera let out a giggle, but she shuts her mouth, bringing her backpack up to her face. "All I see is you."

"Is that so?" She says, the levity in her voice. I smirk. At least she's willing to have some banter-fun. "Just me, Ceylon?"

"Nah," I say, snorting. "I see Tasha and that delirious smile. Those eyes, man."

Otrera lets out a fed-up laugh. She lies on her back, staring up at the ceiling, and eventually, she laughs again and closes her eyes. "Go to bed, now."

"Fine," I say, lying on my back as well. "Good night, Otrera."

"Don't let the nightmares get to you."

Taking in a deep breath, I close my eyes, getting comfortable on the bench. I toss and turn, unsure of where to put the backpack or where to place my head. I eventually find myself angled against the wall, with my feet hanging off the edge and my head propped up on the armrest.

Still, I'm not comfortable, but it will do.

After sitting there for a few minutes in silence, I open my eyes again, not being able to sleep. Outside in the hallway, there's a creak on the floorboards, and I perk up, my feet finding the floor instinctively. I stand up, and I slip my hand outside the curtain, grab my spear, and step outside.

In front of me, there's a figure, but it's not a tribute. It turns around, the whole figure dark, and I look more closely, seeing that it looks like a statue of sorts. I remember seeing ones that look like this one in one of the rooms on the first day.

I'm glad it decided to join me.

It takes a step forward, and I look more closely, the features resembling someone I'm familiar with. I look at the hair, and then the muscles, the sword, and then the clothing it has one. After assessing it, I look at it's face.

I've seen that face before.

It's Cavalier. One of the victors that were killed during the rebellion bombings in District One.

The statue stands there, his legs spread apart, a sword on his hand. The darkness from outside and the dimly-lit hallway don't help me see the statue's features, but besides the hair and the muscles, he's all gray. His skin looks like stone, but he's too flexible or mobile for it too actually be.

The statue lunges forward, thrusting the sword, and I jump to the side, grabbing my spear from the wall. I swing it around, knocking the statue in the head with the end of it, chipping some of the stone from its head away. I smirk, and with another swing, I thrust the spear upwards, slicing some of the stone off from its jaw.

With another swipe of its sword, it only misses my face by an inch or so. I jump back, instantly leaping back at it, spear raised. I aim for its chest, but it ducks, swiping his sword again. _His, _I say, as if it's a real person. It's only a statue.

Fighting him doesn't give me the same thrill as fighting a real person would.

Finding myself becoming disappointed, I jump up, trying to rile myself up. With my fists, I bang on my chest, holding the spear out towards the statue. It comes at me again, but this time, I let it. I let it tackle me to the ground, and as it tries to stab at me with the sword, I throw it off, and with one clean, swift swipe of the spear, I decapitate it.

The head collides into the wall, making the painting above it shake. After all this time, Otrera steps out from the cut-out in the wall, pushing the curtain to the side. She rubs at her eyes, pulls her hair behind her ears, and once she sees me with a spear in my head, she instantly wakes up.

"What happened?!" She exclaims, rushing over towards me. She scans me over, looking me up and down to see if anything actually happened. Then, she notices the statue's headless body next to me, and when she notices the head, she walks over to it and bends down. "Should I even ask?"

"Nah," I say, puffing my chest and rolling my neck around. "I took care of it."

"Took care of it?"

"Why," I say, holding out my hand for Otrera. "I protected the damsel from the terrifying monster."

"It's a statue, Ceylon," she says, rolling her eyes and swatting my hand away. "Get over yourself."

Otrera walks past me, her shoulder brushing against my chest, and I follow her, placing the spear back against the wall. She closes the curtain on her side, and I sit down on my bench, running my hand through my hair. I shake it, and Otrera sits across from me, her lip trembling as she attempts to suppress a smirk.

"Your hair looks fine," she says, leaning back against the wall, crossing her legs over one another. "Well, now that you have me woken up."

"Does that mean..," I say, resting my elbows on my knees and leaning my head on top of them. "We can spoon now?"

"And look at that," she says, now bringing up her legs as she lies on the bench. She closes her eyes, shutting them tightly, and wraps her arms around herself. "It seems that I am tired again. Good night, Ceylon."

"Good night, Otrera."

As my head rests on the wall, I close my eyes, letting my drift into sleep, too. Even though the statue wasn't much, it was something. It got me going.

And now, I want more.

I want to fight an actual tribute.

I want to actually show my strength.

_I want to kill._

* * *

><p><em><strong>District Six, Kolter Hendricks – Placed 14<strong>__**th**_

_**District Eight, Nathaniel Bayle – Placed 13**__**th**_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I'm back!

Surgery went well, if anyone cares. Recovery, well, it had its ups and downs. I've been eating more (I probably shouldn't… Waking up with blood flooding my throat isn't the most pleasant feeling), but I don't care anymore. I just want food, you know? I'm a growing boy.

Anyway, here's the next chapter! Two more deaths, woah! I'm crazy.

Who knows, maybe I'll get the next chapter out shortly; I'm really enjoying writing this story so far. I hope everyone is enjoying it as well. I'll leave with one question:

_Is there one tribute that you would like to die from the remaining twelve?_


End file.
